Ode to Harrison
by blah0799
Summary: Set in the plot lines of Into Darkness, this prologue tells the past of Khan, and the story behind the crew he calls his family. A Sherlock/Star Trek AU
1. On One Condition

_John. NSY. Now. Don't bring Sherlock._

_-Greg_

John blinked his eyes, finding himself rereading the short message over again. Lestrade had once more sent him a seemingly urgent text.

"Well, that makes fourteen texts in a matter of five minutes." he mumbled out loud, sleepily. The tired doctor struggled to pull himself away from his beloved chair, fatigue still lingering from last night's crime chase. He couldn't even drag himself to bed once they arrived home during the late hours, and instead, settled in the comforts of his armchair.

His back, however, gave a clear protest.

Slowly trudging towards his flatmate's room, he found the great detective sprawled on his bed, limbs splayed, dominating every corner of the sheets and mouth slacked open in exhaustion.

It was quite a remarkable sight.

he gave the sleeping occupant a quick smirk of amusement and shut the door quietly.

Lifting the phone up once again to his face, slow and steady fingers created a message of reply, completely ignoring the fact that Lestrade gave him a message of urgency and desired no texts back.

_Why not Sherlock? Is it Mycroft?_

_-JW_

It didn't even take a minute before a buzz vibrated in John's fingers.

_Oh for god's sake man, just get over here._

_-Greg_

Not wanting to waste anymore time, John Watson sighed and pulled up his trousers stepping back out to the city of London.

* * *

"Ah and here he is!" Greg Lestrade opened his arms wide for the confused, and slightly lethargic Watson entering the main office of Scotland Yard. A strong hand smacked an equally strong shoulder as Greg led John into his office.

"Um. What's going on?" Puzzled and confused about the D.I.'s surprisingly excited exterior, John let himself to be led through the maze of cubicles and workers buzzing to and fro the building. Looking up, he spotted a crinkled smile from Lestrade. He once again blinked.

Whatever it was Lestrade wanted to show John, it must be good.

That or the fact that a tall, deducing someone wasn't there complaining or already solving the content of the surprise.

Greg was ecstatic. John was a lot more fun to share things with.

As they stood in front of the bleach white door of Detective Inspector Lestrade's office, with one hand on the knob and the other on John, Lestrade looked him in the eye, playfulness aside, returning to his professional manner.

"Behave."

Watson scrunched up his nose.

"Wha-? What do you mean-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the two entered the stark quiet room, breaking the silence and letting in the noises of telephones and footsteps and chatter. With a slight force of the hand, the door was once again shut, and silence was once more.

Now, John is a man who could very well accept any kind of silence, (spending years with bombs, gunshots, and blood curdling screams blasting in his ears is a factor) but the noiselessness in the small office was far too abnormal, considering the fact that there were a surprising amount of people all smushed in one place. Not a sound was heard, not a breath, not even a squeak of a shoe sole.

Yes, this silence was definitely uncanny...but it wasn't uncommon. The military doctor knew right away what they were.

They were the products of strict training and harsh learning.

They were soldiers.

As Lestrade began to introduce John to a man whose posture, behavance, and dress clearly reveals that he is one of the seniors of the group, Watson felt himself standing straighter, his head held up even higher and his eyes growing a bit colder. All this stemming from old habits.

"John, I'd like you to meet Admiral Eugene, one of the high ranks of the new Starfleet. He's a medical professor also, and...yeah."

Ignoring Lestrade's painfully awkward actions compared to the strictly trained, John gripped the Admiral's firm hand.

An old smile widened on the man's face, revealing lines of wrinkles that seemed to be gained through experience rather than age. John thought of this as a peculiar thing. A superior, smiling an old man's smile.

"And Admiral, I'd like you to meet Doctor John Watson, a brilliant mind, I assure you."

And brilliant mind John Watson, for a split second, lost his military focus and gave Lestrade a startling glance.

"I-uh...wait what?"

As he stammered, Admiral Eugene continued on with the greetings. "Ahh doctor, I don't believe that Inspector Lestrade have given you any details to the happenings. I'm sorry, I was the one who requested your presence when the dear inspector told me all about you."

Another blink of the eye.

"Um. I'm sorry I still don't quite understand..."

Another smile.

"Why don't I let Inspector Lestrade tell you all about it?" The Admiral turned to take a seat, and with a wave of his hand, the others behind him repeated the action.

John looked back at Lestrade, hoping that all this confusion would be cleared up before his flatmate woke up and start bombarding his phone with texts of _"where are you's"._ He sat down next to the old Admiral, who was seated right across Lestrade, who returned to his chair and leaned forward on the great desk in between them, hands clasped together in a professional manner.

He took a quick look at the Admiral, nodded, then back at John.

"Well, John, you've heard of the new Starfleet organization, correct?"

"Right."

"About space, and science and whatnot-"

"Go on."

"Well, Admiral Eugene here is in charge of-well-created, a new project for Starfleet's scientific discoveries."

"The Eugenics Project. Clever, isn't it?" The Admiral added in proudly.

"Yes, that's right."

"Wait," John interrupted. He dug through the science folder of his mind, searching for that recognizable term.

"Eugenics...isn't that improvement of human hereditary traits?"

Lestrade grinned, nodding to the doctor.

"That's right, and that is what our Admiral Professor here has been researching throughout almost all his life. And now his research have been proved successful."

"That's...that's amazing!"

The old, wrinkled crinkle of skin appeared once again as a response to John's amazement.

"But, why am I here for, if you mind me asking, and why inform Scotland Yard about it?"

The gleam in Lestrade's eyes hinted that the news to come was very worth hearing.

"Like I said, the research is successful. Now it's time to test results. Scotland Yard was not only informed of this, but also asked to be part of it. You see here John, they needed different people with different kinds of traits, strength, intellect, abilities, Scotland Yard harbors all these varieties. And I've recommended you John, to be a part of it too."

Watson's eyes widened. "Why?"

Lestrade chuckled, as if John couldn't see the answer dangling right in front of him.

"Oh come on man! You were an army doctor! You've experienced the battlefield, and let's not forget that because of you tagging along during crime scenes and even involving yourself in the captures of criminals, you ought to be labeled as a police officer and a detective."

"And that is why the Inspector recommended you to me himself. He's quite fond of you doctor Watson."

John looked at both Greg and the Admiral in awe.

"So let me get this straight. Scotland Yard has been invited to be part of the Eugenics experiment and you want me to join in?"

"Right," answered Lestrade with much gusto, seemingly pleased by the fact that his division was chosen to represent one of science's greatest achievement.

"Ahh but you're not a _part_ of the project," Admiral Eugene stated, "You_ are_ the project. You see, we are going to be developing a group of genetically advanced supermen, the varieties found here will help distinguish different enhancements produced."

As he explained, he noticed the slight look of askance on the doctor's face.

"Rest assured doctor Watson, Starfleet is a worldly approved organization and its researches are highly encouraged. I've worked on this project for many long years now, and I am, dare I say, a hundred percent certain this will be a success."

John Watson sighed. He knows that even after the reassurance, this still was a big risk. He's basically giving his body to science! But...

There was a spark in Watson's adrenaline hungry head that felt the excitement in all this, maybe even the same spark that Lestrade obviously has.

Deep down, he found this thrilling.

And right now, it was tempting.

Eugene noticed the doctor pondering over the matter. "After all," he continued, "isn't the idea of being superhuman quite fascinating?"

Bam. That was it. that was the trigger.

"Alright," he sighed, giving in to temptation. Lestrade smiled and leaned back on his chair, feeling accomplished, and the Admiral once again showed his lines.

"I'm glad you can join us docto-"

"On one condition."

Admiral Professor Eugene glanced at John, his mouth slightly agape with the trace of the unfinished sentence hanging on the tip of his tongue.

Lestrade's eyes widened in surprise at John's sudden interruption and sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the two men in front of him.

"Go ahead doctor," Eugene spoke, "I'm here to listen."

John Watson, his eyes gleaming with loyalty and determination, looked over to Greg, giving him a microscopic smirk, knowing the reason of why the dear inspector had asked for John and John only,then back to the Admiral.

"You must include one person of my recommendation," Greg leaned back with a sigh and shook his head in a playful, immature annoyance towards John.

Simply ignoring the action, he continued on with his request.

"I want you to include Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

_**A/N Awww yeah this fic is now set to sail!**_

_**Now just some info on this fic:**_

_**So yeah, I watched Into Darkness with two good friends and holy hell instant headcannon!(Surprisingly I wasn't the only one who thought about it!) So this is a Sherlock/Star Trek crossover AU, and I'm going with the movie's plot line, not the series. Some of my own imagination will leak out to allow the story to flow, but other than that, it can fit with Into Darkness's story. I'm really excited for this fic and I specifically waited for school to end so I can focus entirely on the story! Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**_

_**Title of the story taken from the unreleased Star Trek Into Darkness OST**_


	2. Convincing The Genius

"John. Watson."

"What?" the smaller man emitted with a chuckle. The inspector detective's reaction to his behavior was clearly amusing to him.

As the door shut close, the two were left in the office, watching the Admiral and his crew leaving the floor through glass windows.

"What made you mention Sherlock's name?"

"What made you not?"

Lestrade paced the room, rubbing his face with one hand in a motion of exhaustion.

"I don't understand, isn't Sherlock a perfect candidate for this? The Admiral would've been at awe if you mentioned Sherlock instead of me. Why, I conclude that he's already a superhuman himself!" John huffed.

"But that's my problem isn't it? A superhuman getting an advanced upgrade? Oh god knows what we'll have to deal with after that."

The poor detective inspector sat back down on his chair in a dramatic slump, while John couldn't help but letting out another chuckle of amusement. Lestrade clearly hasn't experienced living life as Sherlock's flatmate.

Although John would agree that the thought of a super-super Sherlock frightened him a bit, curiosity tugged a bit harder as he pondered on the idea of an _advanced_ Sherlock mind. How would that even worked?

Of course, the detective's improvement wasn't the only thing on his mind, no of course not. The army doctor, who thought of himself as now an aging man, was thrilled to think of the possibilities of gaining back his youthful strength and more.

He nodded his head silently to himself, smiling as he did so.

By noon, the two went out to grab some coffee after Greg saw John poking in and out of his sleep state and learned all about the unsupervised crime chase he and the detective had been up to all night. But after a few moments had passed, during the middle of their friendly chatter, John's phone once again buzzed in his pocket.

Numerously.

He didn't even have to take out the loud thing to know who was contacting him and for whatever reason.

Lestrade sighed and took a sip of his coffee. "Go on ahead." he waved. "Your job to tell him though."

With a nod and a smile, John Watson hurried home to his bumbling idiot.

* * *

"No? What do you mean no?"

The shorter flatmate stood planted in front of their doorway, a growing lukewarm cup of coffee in his hands which was then snatched away by quick fingers, and brought up to angled lips in a stolen sip.

Sherlock Holmes gulped the caffeine down tastelessly and continued on around the flat, full head of curly hair stuck up in an odd fashion and his robe fluttering behind him in a lazy manner.

John stared at the tall stick of laziness wondering about, expecting an answer.

"Sherlock!"

"Yes?"

"An answer?"

"I already did, I said no."

"Well- an answer to that answer!" Watson gruffed and retreated to his armchair.

"Why don't you want to participate? I thought you would be all into this Starfleet, science discoveries type stuff."

"What a sloppy deduction that was John, I thought I taught you better."

Sherlock bounded his way to the kitchen, checking up on his precious experiments when John turned to look over to where he was behind his chair.

"You like experiments don't you? I thought the Eugenics Project would be quite fascinating to your intellect, and they certainly need _your_ exceptional mind."

The genius sat down in front of his microscope. "You're correct on my likings of experiments, points to you John," he commented facetiously. "but that does not mean I would like to_ be_ one. And yes the topics of Eugenics do interests me, but I wouldn't want to be poked and prodded with it."

John rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to retort but was cut off by the continuation of another comment.

"And you said Lestrade's whole division will be participating, correct?"

"Yes,"

"Then, nope."

"Problem?"

"Anderson." Sherlock spat, already feeling the annoyance of the dimwit's presence.

"Oh for god's sake Sherlock, stop the sophomoric squabble. I've already showed my bravado to the Admiral Professor just to get your name in, don't waste this opportunity."

Sherlock simply ignored his flatmate's plea and continued twiddling with his microscope. But as he played his silent treatment, his eyes flickered to John on the armchair, mentally going through the real reason he refuse to be a part of the experiment and silently directing it to John, hoping that he would understand.

But John, however, never got the telepathic message, but knew not to argue with the stubborn man.

A few moments of quietness passed and the two occupants sat still the whole time, wandering in their own thoughts.

Lifting himself up, John trod towards the kitchen behind Holmes and started making himself a cup of tea to relieve himself of an eventful day.

"Alright," he sighed as he searched for a mug. "fine, I won't force you. I just don't understand why you would ignore such a happening."

Sherlock hummed a deep response, indicating the break of silence.

"Just...I hope you'll be alright once I'm away, or well-once everyone's actually."

"What?"

"God knows what'll happen to you when you'll be craving more cases." John continued to mumble as he set his tea.

"John!"

"What?"

The doctor spun around to meet the eyes of the detective boring into his, utter confusion marked on his face.

"You're going?"

"Well, yes, they're conducting the experiment next month. Why are you-"

"No. you are not going." Sherlock's ever changing eyes were fixated on the airy blue-ish green of the doctor's. John shook his head in disbelief.

"I accepted your decision Sherlock, I didn't change mine."

Sherlock clicked his tongue. "No."

"Sherlock!"

"No."

'Wha-"

"It's a risk! I don't want you to get hurt!"

The words just slipped out of his mouth without passing his mind. The self proclaimed sociopath clasped his lips together in silence and John watched in bewilderment.

Sherlock never slipped. He hardly never let his affections spill out like that. A bit embarrassed and still a bit pissed, he coughed and turned his attention back to his work.

John Watson however, kind and understanding he is of the situation, made no attempt to ridicule the detective or point out the words that were sputtered without thought.

Not because he refused to believe Sherlock Holmes harbored any sort of care towards his well being, he simply knew that even through his emotionless and apathetic facade, this blunt and ignorant friend of his has a heart bigger than most people. He just chooses not to show it.

"Sherlock, you've experimented on me many times, you have no right to stop me." John said half-jokingly, but seeing as this did not amuse the solemn detective, he cleared his throat and tried again.

"I know you mean well, but I'm not passing this. I'd like to help Starfleet as much as I can. Besides, you reeled me in with a source of danger when we first met. I blame you."

John smirked, dipping his tea bag onto hot water and taking a long and flavorful sip as he ventured towards his laptop to begin a new blog entry.

His eyes drooped a bit as the glow of the screen flashed in his face. He was disappointed. Of course he was. He expected an acceptance yet he was turned down immediately.

_You shouldn't be sulking, Watson, _he thought to himself. _You're a grown man. _

The genius detective tapped his fingers relentlessly on the side of his equipment, unsure of what to do and what to respond. He thought about it, looking for another reason to pull John out of the predicament, but before his blogger could lay a finger on a key, Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh and turned to John.

"Fine I'll do it." he blunted.

A stillness dropped like fog. The blogger looked at him for a moment, letting the words sink in before he could respond.

Then, realizing what he had just heard and excited by the detective's quick change of thought smiled and leaned triumphantly back on his seat, the same way he noticed Lestrade had done when he accepted to join.

"Well it's settled then. Good to have you on the division Mr. Holmes." A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips in a small smirk.

With a slight crinkle of his nose and a pout on his lips, Sherlock walked over to John and stole his cup of tea, sipping it in a tantrum-ish manner.

"Just don't blame me doctor," he spoke darkly, "if you find me choking Anderson to death whenever he decides to speak his idiotic mind."

* * *

**A/N Yes, I love feely Sherlock, blame me for his slight OC but it's all with good reason! **

**And hint hint, the next chapter will be a lot clever. **

**Reviews are helpful and welcomed :3**


	3. The Significance of a Name

It's been three weeks.

Three weeks since the admiral's visit,

Three week's since the doctor's compromise,

and three weeks since the great detective's agreement.

Three weeks have gone past like any other.

Well, if you can call reuniting a yellow-masked girl with her family, solving the mystery of a carbuncle in a goose's stomach, and discovering the truth of a ridiculous situation involving redheads, a week like any other.

But of course it was. For Hatman and Robin.

In the early morning of a perfect Sunday, the phone buzzed chaotically in the flat of 221 B Baker Street. Two very tired minds dragged their limp bodies hurriedly towards the ringing device, praying to God that they could answer before they wake their seemingly sweet landlady, Mrs. Hudson.

As anyone who personally knew her knows that one does not simply disrupt her sleep on a Sunday morning. A lesson very much learned by Sherlock the first time he took his boredom out on the wall at 5:30 AM.

Finally finding the phone buried deep in the crevices of the detective's armchair, John Watson cleared his throat and gave his most professional sounding voice for a man who only managed to get an hour of sleep. But before he could even finish his greeting, an asperous voice of an old man wasted no time for chit chat.

"Ah, doctor Watson, I presume,"

Recognizing the prominent voice of a superior, John instinctively returned to his soldier's posture.

"Admiral Eugene! Yes, this is John Watson, are you perhaps calling about the project, sir?"

Noticeably eager, Watson shushed a staring Holmes with a finger, mouthing out the Admiral's name only to receive a roll of the eyes from the detective.

"I am here to invite you and all the other participants for a brief meeting at Starfleet's laboratory before we conduct the project next week. I hope you and Mr. Holmes are available to attend?"

"Oh yes sir, very much so." Another grunt from the childish man.

"Superb. I'll have someone email you the date and time right away. Until then, doctor."

"And you, Admiral."

Once the click of the phone indicated the end of a short conversation, Sherlock stared at John for a brief moment.

"So," Watson continued, not noticing the man's gaze. "We have a meeting to attend to."

"Are we going?"

"Wha-? Why of course we're going!"

With that reply, Sherlock once again sighed and rolled his eyes, bounding his way over to the kitchen and attempted to make a cup of coffee, an action simply made to irritate his strict flatmate, who is all for not letting Sherlock Holmes cook or create anything made to eat in the kitchen.

John Watson, already used to this childish behavior, ignored Sherlock, and logged in to his laptop to check his email, mumbling about silly tantrums and _'grow up will you's_'.

A week like any other.

* * *

A hundred footsteps made it's way through Starfleet's large corridor. From a distance, the abounding amount of men and women behind one fully uniformed admiral looked as if they were preparing for war. Although they were not getting ready for battle, they were, however, getting ready to become soldiers.

Superhuman, to be exact.

Next to the admiral professor, doctor Watson walked with him, introducing the great mind. The admiral himself at first thought of the detective as an over exaggeration of brilliancy, but once they met just a few moments ago, his opinions of him were changed when Sherlock was able to deduce his morning breakfast by just the shake of the hand and a smile.

"Well," John started, "I never thought there would be this many people in one division." he observed and turned to Lestrade who followed behind him.

"The more the better, I say. Just be grateful for the humongous laboratory they've gifted us." laughed the admiral.

As the two chatted like old mates talking about their experiences out on the field, Sherlock scanned the entirely white building with glazed eyes. Sure he was impressed with the vastinity, but it was all too plain boring to him.

They soon reached a great door which slid open to reveal an extravagant room filled with brilliant science equipment that could make any scientist of every field drool with pleasure. Monitors were hooked up to every space on the walls, tables were lined with every medical and research tools known to mankind, people adorned with lab coats hustled and and bustled about, and a hundred pods lined the entire edge of the room, all hooked up to a gleaming heavy piece of machinery in the center of the lab.

Upon drinking in the beauty of science before him, Sherlock, for a split second, stood gaping at the wonder.

"Oh my." was all John could breathe out as a response.

Admiral Eugene turned to look at the centuplicate group, feeling proud of his work as he saw wide eyes and jaws drop.

"Welcome to Starfleet's Research and Medical Component. This is where the Eugenics Project takes place, and where you all will be working in for the next few months." He gestured the group to follow him for a grand tour.

"In this very room, this is where our team spent years working and experimenting. Every piece of equipment you see is a tool of the future. During the beginning of the experiment, you will be in here where we will conduct your tests and analyze every speck of you to determine how your advanced form will be like. The first step is always the hypothesis, you see. This will take about another few weeks or so."

The admiral professor continued on and with a wave of his arm, he indicated to the pods lined perfectly next to each other, stretching along the exterior of the room.

"And these, will be your beginnings. Think of these as the wombs in which you will come out of, but stronger, more brilliantly, acutely, more than you are right now. You will be in these chambers for a few days, less than a week and when you wake, we will go back to testing. Research, Hypothesis, Experiment, Analysis, then Conclusion. No matter how extraordinary a project may be, the scientific method will always be applied. It is as simple as that."

All nodded, remembering primary school science projects to the testing of different cadavers. What they got from the professor's speech was: it is all surprisingly simple.

"Now, after all this, you will all head to headquarters to enter in Starfleet Academy. There, all of you will be trained together and also individually."

"Headquarters? Where's that?" a voice from the crowd asked.

"San Francisco."

Mixed reaction waved throughout the entire room, yet none expressed negativity for they all knew what they signed up for and were all secretly excited.

Well, except for one.

Sherlock Holmes grimaced at the idea of flying out across the world all to _train_. Sure he considered himself fit and capable running around London and dodging bullets, but actually _being told_ to exercise and on a daily basis repulsed him. It was like the school's physical education all over again.

Trying to hide his distaste, his eyes flickered to John's, not at all surprised at the former medical soldier's unfazed reaction. Even though he was only a doctor, Sherlock knew from the very beginning that John received the same amount of preparation of those out on the battleground. Not to mention he had already seen his flatmate's physique at nights in which he walked out of the shower with only a towel on. He allowed himself a quick smirk when the memory of it was brought up, thinking back to how the flustered Watson quickly ran to the living room pointing a finger at the detective as he meddled with his experiments, clarifying, "Not gay, I just left my robe on the couch...not gay." and grabbing his things with lightning speed and left.

"Now," the admiral started once again, "Before the week has started, we'll all need you to do some paperwork and one more important and crucial thing. In this very building, you won't be Mr. Lestrade, or Mr. Watson. Your names will be completely confidential. Both for your sakes, and for the people of London."

Lestrade, already being handed his paperwork, spoke up, adding in another question for the admiral. "How so?"

"The people of London wouldn't want to know that almost half of their Scotland Yard is being experimented on, so confidentiality is key."

However it wasn't Admiral Eugene who answered as Lestrade turned his attention to Sherlock, who cocked his eyebrow cheekily and earned a disapproving stare from his doctor.

"Yes, that's correct. Even though we are confident with our success, Starfleet must always remain worry free and avoid setting off any tensions from the public as we are still a growing organization. So! All you have to do after you read your paperwork, is to sign with your alias. You will be able to choose yourself. One name. One identity. In this room, in this building, anywhere in Starfleet, that is who you are."

And with the return of the wrinkly old smile of his, Admiral Professor Eugene dismissed the briefing.

* * *

"Hmm...a name...one simple name-ugh why is this hard?!" John paced the small space of their living room waving around the stapled sheets of paper they have received from the meeting. Immediately after they had arrived back in Baker Street, the two read the entire agreement and instructions form together. John looked it over twice and Sherlock scanned for any loopholes or mistakes. All were clear and passed the detective's eyes. All except for John's dilemma.

An alias.

A name in which they would have to keep for the rest of half of their lives. For John, however, it was like naming his own child right of the blue.

_'Hamish?'_ he thought. _'No, that's already part of my name, it's too obvious.'_

As he struggled, Sherlock walked passed him with ease, setting his paper down on the coffee table and snuggling himself in his own armchair across from the doctor.

"I don't know why this is difficult for you." he began to mutter, taking out his laptop to search for unsolved crimes to read about.

John looked up, scrunching his nose. "And I don't suppose you have already picked one?"

Sherlock, waiting for that question to run out of John's mouth, finally found his chance to impress the blogger detective and took it. Shutting his laptop close, he grabbed his papers and presented them to John.

"Why, but I have, dear Watson. _Khan_."

"Khan?"

"Yes. Very short, one syllable, foreign too so it doesn't connect to me."

John looked over his papers, seeing all the lines filled out with sharp signatures of _Khan_."

He nodded his head.

"And I guess you could also say I've derived it from the Great Genghis Khan, emperor of the Mongol Empire. I've concluded that if I am to become a genetically engineered superhuman, might as well have fun with it and base my alias from a superior being." Sherlock brought his hands together in front of him, watching John leaf through the papers.

The doctor had to admit, he was impressed. Yet knowing Sherlock, he knew the man was rarely sentimental and a simple name would always remain simple.

He handed the papers over.

But Sherlock went babbling about. "I could even stretch out the name if I needed to. I've already decided. _Khan Noonien Singh_. Noonien for-"

"Alright I get it!" Watson stopped him.

He sighed. He can only be impressed by the great Holmes for so long until he becomes just a bumbling pain in the arse.

He took a look at his own blank papers. It was honestly difficult. He wondered how Sherlock managed to just accept a seemingly random name like that. '_I could simply do the same thing.'_ he thought. _'Um...Ricky? Leonard? Hikaru?'_ Although all desultory names, John can never have it in him to keep any of them.

Then he thought about what names really were. They were almost always an homage to someone. Even Sherlock's Khan was, he realized. It may be pulled out of the blue, but it was pulled from someone: Genghis Khan. Everyone names someone or something from something significant. And so John thought deeply.

"Maybe I could use Mrs. Hudson's surname?" he spoke aloud, making Sherlock, across from him, look away from his article of the variety of blood diseases and stare.

"Hudson?"

"Yes, but I don't know-"

"What about your sister?"

"Huh? Oh! Harry? Yes that could work fine also, but it's so common."

John tapped his chin.

"Hudson would be a great name to honor Mrs. Hudson. And Harry is very fitting name, you know my mother wanted to name her son Harry, but of course my sister was born first so she changed it up a bit with Harriett, but then I came in and she just couldn't name me Harry after she already had Harriett. Hmm..."

While John babbled on Sherlock looked at him with uninterested eyes and went back to reading, sighing heavily about this idle situation.

But it wasn't long until John Watson had reached a compromise. Feeling accomplished, he quickly grabbed a pen and signed on every line as if the name would escape him if he didn't perpetuate it in paper.

This very act had the detective curious, lifting his eyes once again away from the screen.

"Well, what is it?"

He waited till all the lines were signed and John handed him the papers with completion. Flipping through them all, he recognized the flow of ink on paper containing the brilliancy the blogger had concocted. One name. One identity. An homage:

_Harrison._

* * *

**__****A/N Okay, this was a fun chapter. :D Did you get all the references?(There was a bunch!) Did you like my headcannons? Clever, yeah? X) Oh! And next week, I'll be away for a few days for vacation, so just expect maybe a week's break from updates, but not too long though! I'm having a blast writing this. Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	4. The Beginning

"Counting down.

_Three_

_Two_

_One..._

Steady, Mr. Khan...hold it..."

"Oh for god's sake woman!"

The sound of the two's frequent chatter echoed throughout the whole room, earning gazes from the other participants who were out and about.

Then, the quiet click of the machine indicated its shut down.

Sherlock Holmes-or _Khan_, rather, stepped out of the great device, stripping it's connectors and snippets off of his limbs and chest with a disgruntled sigh. Finally out in the open, he stretched his fairly abused muscles, twisting and shaking off the feeling of pain racking his whole body.

His eyes turned to his assigned scientist, glaring at her almost, but yet she continued on marking down his records nonchalantly.

She was already warned forehand from many people about her test subject, and she had raised three stubborn teens in her motherhood. She didn't see the difference between the two.

The device in which Sherlock had stepped out of was large, resembling an enormous egg wedged in the corner of the laboratory. Inside were many different straps and gadgets that were to be attached on the body, encasing the subject in an almost mummy-like fashion. Once switched on, it had the ability to mimic every nerve signal the very brain could conjure.

For the detective, however, the focused nerve was pain.

Pain from a fatal wound,

then emotional pain,

suffocation,

and muscle durability.

He endured the best he could, but the curious scientist wanted more out of him, pushing him to his very limits without warning.

"Dammit all..." he muttered, as he strived his way towards a seat, massaging his chest as he still felt the awful torture of artificial suffocation.

But luckily, it was his last and final test.

The tired detective scanned his peripheral vision, quietly looking around without getting noticed to search for that one somebody. Within moments later, the soft tappings of bare feet caught Sherlock's attention, making him turn suddenly to greet his short doctor and-

"Oh it's you, Lestrade."

His wide eyes returned back to its blank and uncaring state, wincing once in awhile as his muscles began to scream in agony with every slight movement.

"And a hello to you too," the inspector scoffed back. "And it's _Tobias_, not Lestrade here."

"Hmm"

The two sat awkwardly together, barefooted and clad in a black material which clung to their bodies like a second skin, showing every curve of their features almost as if they were nude. All of Lestrade's division wore the fitting suit, highly embarrassing and unsightly at first, but as time rolled on and they've come to know the laboratory as their own workplace, the garb became almost embedded onto them; a uniform of normality.

"So, Khan," Lestrade started, trying to ease off the silence between them. "I'm guessing you're also completed with all these testings, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Ah, right. Well, there's a few more people to go, it shouldn't be too long before we start."

Sherlock stared, uninterested in the conversation but trying his best for the inspector's effort.

"I just got word a few minutes ago that the Admiral would be coming soon. I also checked up on the others as well, Christopher just finished his a moment ago-"

"Christopher?" he finally spoke up. Sherlock never got used to the name changes. He had explained to John once that all these aliases were simply useless occupants to his precious mind. Only valuable information was stored up there. He especially didn't bother to know who this 'Chrisopher' is and who he was before."

"That would be I."

More sounds of feet padded towards the two, and by the recognition of the man's voice, Sherlock was about to bolt out of his chair. But instead, he attempted a polite greeting.

"Anderson."

"It's Christopher."

"I don't care."

He stood and started walking around the room, dodging the busy crowd as they worked to get the tests done in time. He walked in labyrinths, hoping to shake off the annoyance that continued to follow him.

"It's clever isn't it? Straight out of the history books." The forensic analyst continued on, ignoring the stares and only aimed on pissing off the detective. "From Christopher Columbus, you see. Great explorer, navigator, colonizer, seems very fitting for my adventurous eye, yes?"

It wasn't long until the very last of Sherlock's tolerance had snapped.

"Yes, considering that he had landed on the New World being so very convinced that he had reached India and even took that information to his grave. Very idiotic of him. Just like you." he mumbled in a single breath, but loud enough for his tormentor to hear.

Angered and fooled, Anderson attempted a retort, opening his mouth but closing it immediately as he found nothing to say and left the detective alone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Think of a good riposte first before you ever want to insult me, 'Christopher'._

Slowly making his way towards the other end of the great room, he observed all the happenings around him. Sure he has experienced many different environments in his life, but never one so hectic yet incredibly quiet. The only sounds came from the buzzing of equipment and the chatter of the other test subjects.

It was eerily comforting.

"Alright Mr. Harrison, you're all set."

Sherlock's ears perked at the sound of the only name he hasn't deleted and turned to search for the source.

Out at the almost end of the room, was John Watson, carefully stepping out of a large contraption filled to the brim with water. Scientists and assistants helped the doctor remove the snake-like tubes and wires that slithered down his body and carefully draped him layers of warm towels, cocooning him in an almost comical way. Shivering slightly, John stood next to his scientist, looking over his test results.

The detective reached Watson quietly, causing him to turn in slight surprise as he heard Sherlock breathe his name behind him.

"Oh! Sher-I mean Khan! You're done with everything, I suppose?"

"Good observation." Sherlock answered, lacing with sarcasm.

"Not an observation, just a question." Watson rubbed his face dry, making the hairs on his head stand up on tiny spikes that jutted out in all directions.

As John peeled off the many towels that covered him, Sherlock felt no body heat radiating from him, despite standing close. His eyes glanced towards the large tub that John had emerged from, wondering what kind of test he partook in.

"Temperature endurability," Watson exclaimed as he noticed Sherlock's stare, handing the towels over to an assistant. "Literally froze my arse off."

After being fully dried and the last of the towels were stripped off revealing the matching uniform, the doctor was then dismissed by his scientist and began walking towards the center of the room where all the other completed participants waited.

"Why'd you come for me, anyways?" he commented as he found the great detective trailing behind him. "You were supposed to wait with everyone else once you were done."

Sherlock huffed. "You were the only one tolerable here, John."

John took that as a compliment. It was the closest Sherlock could ever get to showing any kind of affection anyways. He also accepted the fact that Sherlock will always call him by his name instead of his alias.

It was a long and frightful debate that they had over this small matter, but in the end, the stubborn child of a man won only because John didn't want Sherlock to back out of the experiment. It was a small agreement in which he was able to comply with.

They waited with the others in the center of the laboratory, all in black, barefooted, and each in a different state that revealed what they have gone through during their last evaluation test. Either freezing, sore, drowsy, and even one poor soul was feeling numb all over.

"All for the sake of science," John chuckled towards Lestrade.

Everyone chatted in silence until the tall doors slid open, the sound of hard shoes finally broke the patter of fleshy feet and a wave of the familiar scents of the outside world flowed in the air, the room no longer harboring the intensely sanitized odor of medical solutions and chlorine.

A toothy crinkled smile was then exposed to the group as a sort of warm greeting.

The Admiral Professor Eugene stood before them, no longer clothed in his military uniform, but instead, donned in a long, crisp, white laboratory coat more fitting for his second title as Professor. Hands in his pockets, and an enthusiastic fire in his eyes, the old man looked as if he were a child finally getting ready to go off on an adventure.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as the professor walked past him, nodding a quick, "Khan," and grinning from ear to ear as he inspected his test subjects.

He never liked over enthusiastic people, their actions felt way too dramatic for his taste.

"Mr. Tobias!" the professor greeted, shaking Lestrade's hands in a friendly manner rather than professionally. "It's good to meet once again. How is your division, my dear inspector? The testings have gone well, I presume?"

"Ah well, as Harrison said, all for the sake of science."

The two laughed heartily like old mates, engulfed in their own excitement and pride.

"But this is just the beginning!" the old admiral whispered, then stepped out in front of the crowd, raising his hands towards the pods as a gesture of attention.

"My dear participants! I thank you for your wonderful patience and endurance with these evaluations-I can assure you, you will all benefit from it! But now, it is time! Time for years of research and work finally be proven successful. Time for you all to experience a life like no other! It is time for rebirth!"

The professor's voice boomed in determinance, sending shivers down everyone's body. To them, it was like a fighter's speech.

To Sherlock, it was like a madman's delirium, echoing delight throughout his creations.

His eyes flickered to John's, watching the doctor gulp down his nervousness.

John Watson, the person whose trust was as valuable and rare as Sherlock's sentiment, was about to lend his body on a silver platter to science.

_"Adrenaline is a drug that causes a person to do silly things," _thought Holmes,_ "for here you are, doctor."_

With the flick of his wrist and a snap of his thumb, professor Eugene had the scientists open all the pods up in unison, the sound of hissing tubes and cold fog suddenly clouded the floors of the laboratory as a result. The group stepped back in awe.

"I welcome you to your chambers," Eugene continued. We will begin the experiment here, where you will undergo your transformation, but don't fret. Your body's nerve systems will be numbed, and sleep will overpower you as it takes place. After a few days, you will wake.

Shall we begin?"

Animated murmurs of enthusiasm traveled throughout the room, not only limiting itself to the participants, but also to the many scientists who have worked alongside the professor on this long and agitating research.

As the pods were opened up, all one hundred participants lined up in front of it, assistants scrubbed the bodies clean and clipped loose hairs out of the way, making last minute adjustments. With another wave of the professor's hand, the scientists led them inside, where the cold metal shocked their skin like an electric current.

More tubes and wires were stuck to their arms, legs, chest and head. Beeping devices were brought inside the pods with them and after a few moments of preparation, their arms were found bound into the sides, large needles snaking its way into their skin deeply.

Sherlock winced. After a few years of finally being clean, he found that the feeling of needles back in his arms sickened him. He pushed back the memory, eyes jerking instinctively towards Lestrade across him, as if the inspector could somehow read his clouded mind and immediately issuing a drugs bust on the detective.

He felt himself more paranoid as the tip of the needle surge farther up his arm, starting from the wrist and finally ending on the inner elbow, right on the ulnar nerve, making the arms tingle with a peculiar sensation.

"You alright?"

The voice he heard came from beside his chamber, a quiet hum of reassurance that he wasn't alone. John Watson whispered once more.

"Sherlock?"

The uneasy detective found himself shaking off his tensions and smiled at the sound of his own name, unknown that he was saved once again by his friend's words.

"I'm fine-"

"Well, Khan!" The sonance of a gruff voice cut through his sentence like a knife. Sherlock stared at the smiling professor who did not seem to notice his rude interruption.

"I'll be looking forward to your results. Your intellect is what Starfleet strives to achieve."

"Flattered."

The professor observed Sherlock carefully, watching his ever changing eyes intensely. To him, the detective was a brilliant find. Before he even met him, his very interpretation of a superhuman already closely resembled the great Holmes's intellect. He was certainly ecstatic about what lies ahead.

He smiled wider. His skin stretching so wide that one could question how it's elasticity was even humanly possible.

Professor Eugene tore his gaze away as soon as he got word that all the pods were filled and set, the doors all locked and sealed and the anesthesia fogged the minds of the test subjects.

He turned back to the glaring detective, and slowly shut his door close with a soft_ click_.

The whole room went silent as the professor quickened his pace towards the center of the lab where the device all the pods were connected to sat beeping, waiting to be switched on. Quick checks were made on the tanks and vials that held the source of the Eugenics Project, ready to flow into the veins of its participants.

Eugene sighed, caressing the white lever that buzzed temptingly. Looking around, he received the nods of approval from his fellow experts, all eager to finish and await the final product.

This was Starfleet's big debut to the world. An indication of the future yet to come.

And it all rested in the hands of the select few hundred humans frozen in their state.

"Counting down,

_Three_

_Two_

_One..."_

* * *

**A/N I'm alive and ready to revive this fic! This chapter was ehhhh so and so to write, trying to get back into the groove of things. It was originally going to be much longer but I cut it down for the purpose of a cliffhanger :3 I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and look forward to regular updates! Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**

**(Oh and by the way, I'm in need for this story's cover pic, yet there are very little art work for Sherlock/Star Trek crossovers. If anyone finds or creates one, PM me! I'll be happy to post it!)**


	5. Wake

Time drawled on like ages.

Seconds crawled. Minutes ticked on.

Hours were brutal.

They only needed four days.

_'The Quaternary Interval' _they had dubbed it, and during this interval, the laboratory was plunged into the deepest of silence, strictness and sequestration.

Only a handful of scientists, hand-picked by the professor himself, was allowed to tend to the project during this crucial time. And to those chosen, their bodies were stiff the entire duration, carefully thinking of each step and action as they went about the lab.

It was as if the room was made of thin ice; one mistake could be fatal for the entire project.

On the third day however, professor Eugene had received a surprise visit by Starfleet Command, a group of high ranking intellects flown all the way from headquarters to examine the very project they had funded.

But of course, this gave them no excuse to be treated differently as they stepped foot into the laboratory. The admiral professor does have a strong reputation of maintaining rigid discipline.

Shoes were stripped, items were stored away, and jackets and accessories left behind, reducing any sort of calamity that might occur. They walked simply cladded in shirts, trousers, and socks.

The assembly stared in awe once their eyes feasted in the sights of one hundred men and women frozen in their slumber. A layer of the pods could be slid open, revealing a glass barrier between the subject and the observer. Ghostly faces surrounded them and they felt the stares as if pierce eyes could see through eyelids.

It was an eerie sight.

They were in exaltation.

The professor received high commendation right then and there, acquiring recognition from his superiors and to those at Starfleet.

But the weight of perfect expectations were also dropped onto his shoulders.

By the fourth day, everyone was back into their frenzied schedule. It was the moment of truth. Will they come out defectless as he promised them they would be? Or will it result to utter failure?

Eugene bit his lip.

_'No,'_ he thought, erasing all doubt. _'They will be SUPERB.'_

Tensions in the air rose as the pods were being ready to open, the main source of the Eugenics Project beeped rhythmically, taking its time to shut down. The scientists stood watch in front of their own assigned subject, the signs of nervousness and excitement evident in their eyes.

Then, the doors opened with a hiss.

The needles embedded into their arms slid out slowly, leaving small, punctured holes on both wrists. But what they saw next, baffled them.

Skin began to crawl around the wound, encircling it with flesh until it was filled in and healed instantly. This miraculous occurrence left the room speechless and an air of amazement fogged the laboratory. They didn't expect to see results so soon.

Aiding hands quickly assisted the test subjects out of their chambers, laying them down carefully onto thin cots on the floor. Heart rates and blood pressures were measured, assuring that they were alive and well. The anesthesia will start to dissipate soon.

Another interval, but fortunately this time it didn't take long.

Twitches of the hands and feet indicated the break of unconsciousness. A slight jerk of a muscle.

Then, the frantic fluttering of eyelids.

All of a sudden, violent coughs racked the room. They gasped for air, greedily sucking in the warmness into their lungs for they were limited to stale, icy oxygen inside their pods. Every one of them got up in frighteningly synchronization.

The admiral professor watched his creations with wide eyes,

and smiled.

* * *

Sherlock woke to the tingling sensation manifesting on his arms. His mind was slowly unfurling and he struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. Once he managed to open them a crack, they clamped shut immediately, shielding away from the awfully bright whiteness around him. He could feel himself being lifted by many strong hands and once he was out of his cramped, frozen space, the sudden temperature change pressed on his chest, warm oxygen forced its way onto his lungs and he trembled violently.

But this wasn't what frightened him.

As he regained his conscious state, he felt his mind literally being flooded, a physical weight pounded on his cranium. He shot up instantly, gritting his teeth and clasping the curls on his head, ready to rip them out in pure frustration.

_'Make it STOP.'_ he screamed in his head. Sherlock has never reacted this way towards a flood of information coursing through his brain; he at least could keep it to himself, but something in him changed, making him unable to control his own actions.

And it only got worse once the tears started falling.

He felt distant. Although he could feel the swarming hands of people pinning him down and restraining him, he couldn't truly perceive it. He was a ghost outside his body.

_'Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP.'_

Sherlock Holmes was crumbling.

But,

_"Sherlock,"_

It only took a whisper,

_"Sherlock!"_

And a touch,

"Sherlock!"

To bring the great detective back into reality.

Crazed, clouded eyes snapped to connect with warm blue ones crinkled with worry yet mixed with the strongest of sternness, telling the detective to get a hold of himself and stop this madness. And he did just that.

Cold relief washed over him and he finally took control of his body, finally feeling the embarrassing tears drying on his cheeks and the warmth of a friend's strong grip on his shoulders. He looked around.

He was back in the bleach white laboratory, the familiar sounds of buzzing and footsteps filling his neglected ears and the sight of many different people and actions washing away the blackness that rimmed his vision.

He shook his head once more.

"John?" Sherlock breathed, looking up to an equally tired man's face.

"You okay?" The familiarity of Watson's words produced an uncontrolled smile on the detective's face.

"Ugh I'll definitely feel that in the morning," John mumbled as he and Sherlock were helped up. "Though oddly better than sleeping on Sarah's couch."

John Watson looked at his surroundings, shaking off the fatigue and trying hard to stay alert. It was a strange experience, waking up after four days of slumber, but he couldn't complain. After many late-night adventures as Hatman and Robin, he deserved the rest.

"Mr. Harrison! Mr. Khan!" A voice boomed and John turned to face the expected form of the admiral professor.

"Professor," he cleared his voice.

"Well, how do you feel?" Eugene scanned the doctor's entire profile, squeezing muscle and examining pupils for any changes. John, of course, felt shifty.

"Uh...well, you tell me professor."

Eugene looked, then brought his hand underneath his chin. "It seems as though there isn't any physical change from the looks of it,"

His eyes then turned to the disgruntled detective.

"How about you, Mr. Khan? Anything at all?"

"A moment ago I felt as if the universe stuffed itself into my head," he glared. But instead of feeling intimidated, the professor simply clapped his hands with achievement and went on inspecting the other subjects.

Sherlock felt fire burning through his veins and began to ball his hands tightly into fists. Shocked and utterly confused about his actions, he found himself having to focus more on his self control.

He gazed at his open palms.

_'What is happening?'_

* * *

Once everyone was controlled, they were immediately assigned back to their scientists to begin the course of another test. This time, it was a lot more interesting.

Not only were they analyzed through wires and scans, but they were also ask to demonstrate their new bodies. It was then that they truly saw the results of the Eugenics Project.

Heavy weights were brought in, the numbers starting in tons and subjects were asked to lift each weight with only a hand. At first John was doubtful, he knew he was strong but not that strong, but he surprised himself and the others when he was able to lift five tons with a single breath. He choked back his shock.

Intellects like Sherlock were stationed in a different field of testing, calculating problems as quick as a blink, assembling gadgets they've never seen before without instructions, and going in for multiple brain scans. Neurologists drooled at the aftermath.

"Participants! How wonderful is this outcome!" the admiral's voice boomed. "I cannot describe the overwhelming joy of this birth of long sought-after research!" His eyes crinkled in delight, but with a single focused glance, one can definitely spot the hint of madness in them. Admiral Professor Eugene craved accomplishment and this single moment for him was like a dose of adrenaline for John or a complex case for Sherlock.

"What then?" boomed back Lestrade, still hanging on to great weights with ease.

"As you can clearly see, your body has been enhanced tenfold. You all are truly superhuman. But what you are experiencing right now are merely baby steps; this isn't your full potential." The admiral faced the crowd.

"In a few days we are all heading out to headquarters where you will be attending Starfleet Academy in a custom course specifically designed for the Eugenics Project. You will undergo training and education that will reveal the greatness hidden in all of you, and we will prep you to becoming the first and the very best genetically engineered Starfleet crew this world will ever have. Besides, the experiment hasn't produced physical changes in any of you, correct? We will make sure to refine that and give you an image fit for your power."

Everyone buzzed with energy.

John lifted his arms up, feeling the worn muscle of his old army days still lingering underneath his skin. His eyes landed on Sherlock's lean but stick-like figure, chuckling as he imagined adding bulk to that body of his.

Lestrade stood next to the smiling doctor, feeling just as excited as he is.

"So, Tobias, what do you say? Are you up for it?"

The dear inspector smiled a smile only reserved for his closest friends and bumped John lightly on the shoulder, but still unknowing of his strength, almost caused the blogger detective to fall.

They both laughed warmly.

"Ah well, I could use another exciting holiday."

* * *

**A/N Whew well this one was procrastination galore! It's really hard to focus when you get to the 'filler-type' parts of the story because you so badly want to skip to the exciting part(and trust me, this story's rising action really will be a doozy,) plus the cliffhangers-oh the fun I have in store for all of you! X) Can you guys already picture the admiral's smile? Yeah he's a happy one. Yes and I love John and Lestrade bro moments, shoot me. Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	6. Inner Demons

_San Francisco, California._

_Starfleet Academy, Presidio Starfleet Headquarters._

_Training grounds._

_Two years later._

* * *

"UNUS! DUO! TRES!"

The early morning sun beat down on aching bodies, their black uniforms not at all helping against the daylight's penetrating rays.

"COME ON, PUSH THROUGH!"

Strong and able hands slapped against the stone floors and each contact cracked the granite ground. Backs groaned against the thud of spine against rock, connecting with a force that could easily paralyze a human being. Blows were landed everywhere on the body, hitting nerves, denting bone, and even scraping skin.

A cringe-worthy violence was issued amongst the crowd, but this wasn't a simple, idiotic rumble, it was their daily training regime.

Fifty bodies sweated on that court with only one thing in mind; the one and only rule on the training grounds.

Fight as if to kill.

The harshness of these words struck fear into the participants once it first echoed into their ears two years ago but now they understood. Now they weren't willing to hesitate as they targeted each vital organ and broke every bone.

No, they aren't savages.

They are superhuman.

Each dislocated joint, each tear of flesh or each damaged organ will instantly heal itself to its former state, sometimes even in a better, stronger form.

These people know their own power, so with every critical hit, they harbored no guilt or worry and only focus on the strength they can achieve.

And some people achieved far greater strength than others.

One test subject was releasing more power than expected, sparring chaotically and quite destructively with an unfortunate partner who was, at this point, training more of his regenerative abilities than his combat skills.

Cracks of the body and the ground were heard continuously and the other participants flickered their eyes over to the commotion but unable to assess the situation. It was a fight after all. This one was just...unfairly matched.

The poor soul looked up from his crater on the ground, unable to get up due to his legs still unraveling themselves from their twisted form and trying desperately to heal quickly, but they were just a bit too slow. A shadow formed over the broken body, concealing the sun with his muscular back and tall figure. He rolled his shoulders mockingly, clenching his fist and ready to deliver another strike. All the doomed partner below him could do was to shut his eyes and hope for the best that he could recover fully the next morning.

He raised his fist into the air, targeting the abdomen where the fatal spot of the stomach lies. Once his eyes were locked in, he exerted everything in his strength and gathered it into his shoulder, pushing down in an incredible force and-

"KHAN."

A stiff stillness.

The menacing fist hovered just above the abdomen, the stomach sucked in deeply as a last attempt the avoid the impact. His partner just about fainted from relief as he actually felt the force of the air connect with his body before the punch. The damaged man peeked through his clenched eyes. the hand in front of him squeezed into a tighter ball, knuckles cracking in protest.

"I think our dear Christopher has had enough, don't you agree?"

Sherlock sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly, getting up and facing his interrupter.

"Where. Is. John, instructor."

Ignoring the dangerous aura directed to him, the combat instructor looked up in slight confusion.

"John? Oh you mean Harrison!" He took out his tablet. "Hmm...hes not here, he's at Medical."

"You know John Watson-"

"Harrison."

Sherlock glared. The instructor shrugged.

"You know very well that he is the only one capable of sparring with me." Sherlock stepped out of the crater, completely ignoring the broken state he just left his partner in and walked away.

His mind was once again in a buzz. Closing his eyes, he began to breathe slowly, taking in the bay air that flowed from the port near the academy. He felt fire once again, but this time he was a bit more capable of controlling it. But he still didn't understand why. For two years now since he had awoken trembling and crazed in his pod, Sherlock became...unstable, though he has done his best to hide it. The only place people really suspected was at the training grounds during a spar. To be able to strike, he had to conjure up all his anger and frustration which goes loose easily. Everyone of his partners in the beginning had felt the wrath of Khan.

Aside from intellect, Sherlock was beyond powerful. Yet he didn't know why. But all this changed two years ago when his new partner arrived in front of him with a smirk.

"John,"

"Ah...still refusing to call me by my alias I see."

Just as it was during their awakening, it was always the presence of John Watson that was able to calm Sherlock's frantic mind. His body ceased fire and he found himself being able to grasp the leashes of his inner demons once again. He stared at the doctor, deducing everything that he could see.

_Black Starfleet uniform - mandatory_

_Smell of disinfectant - just finished Medical_

_Shoulders wide, chest out - typical military stance; ready to fight_

_Stern, determined eyes - unhesitant to fight me, unlike all the others_

_'...So why you?'_

Up above, a bell shrieked and the instructors raised their arms. "BEGIN!"

"Are you ready Khan?" John asked, shifting his body in a fighting stance. But Sherlock continued on staring.

Fight? John? He's never sparred with him before, not knowing of the doctor's newfound strength or his strength against him. Sherlock hesitated. _'John's an aging man,'_ he thought, _'Even enhanced, there is no possibility he can take me down-this is absurd! Plus he'll most likely go off on me about it...'_ Sherlock unknowingly took a microscopic step back.

John, however, saw this slight mistake of footing,

And he took his chance.

An incredible speed dashed through the space between where the two stood, and in a split second, Watson had reached the boggled detective, kicking his feet underneath him, taking him by the neck and slammed him down hard on the marble floors. The ground beneath him cracked and everyone immediately stopped to stare at the mess.

Before Sherlock could even evaluate what had just happened, John stood before him and bent down to face him.

"You're not the only one who can analyze people's actions, Holmes," he whispered. "I saw it there, you were hesitating, weren't you? You think a man like me can't fight the top combater?" John smiled at his baffled partner.

"I warned you a long time ago Sherlock, I was a soldier. I've killed people."

The memory of that repeated comment coursed through Sherlock Holmes's mind, completely erasing all his strange burst of emotions and of course, all doubts. '_Is this why?'_

He gave John a sly grin and readied himself.

"Only on bad days, doctor."

Sherlock quickly lifted himself off the damaged floor using his elbows to support his body and gave Watson a solid kick on the chest with both feet. Once up, he sprinted towards his partner and tackled him back. Feeling confident with himself this time, he began to strike with excellent force.

But no one knew of John Watson's incredible strength and agility. He was always busying himself with the practices of new medicine and never got any time to spar with the rest of the test subjects. But that didn't mean he couldn't fight.

Mixing his military training with his newly acquired strength, the smaller man was able to take down the Great Khan twice,

thrice,

four,

five times.

"And_ old_? Who the _fuck_ told you I was ever considered_ old_?"

Sherlock Holmes never thought lowly of John Watson since that day and declared that John was the only person who he could train with. Fighting with others triggered his mysterious burst of emotions. With John, however, he felt comfortable, more like himself, and felt genuinely...happy.

"HEY! KHAN! Where do you think you're going?" The detective snapped back into present time, still walking away from the damage he had done. Right now, his head was back in tangles, clawing their way out of his skull.

"Give me your best deduction instructor, I'll be happy to hear," Sherlock scoffed and continued on out of the training grounds.

"No! We aren't finished yet Khan, you get ba-"

"Oh come off it instructor!" Tobias stepped into the clearing and strided past Sherlock, handing him a bottle of water and passing him a quick note of information. "He's up at Medical at the chemistry labs. He's been there for a while now, I don't think you'll miss him." The detective gave a short nod and took the bottle without a word.

"Tobias! What the hell?"

"Oh come on instructor, do you really want to let _him_ continue sparring and end up with more poor blokes like Christopher?"

Unable to find a negative to that statement, the instructor continued on the training session with a groan. Lestrade sighed. He knew Sherlock Holmes from the very beginning and ever since the start of the Eugenics Project he had become different. He noticed that he was way more expressive with his actions and even sometimes hold back an insult or a deduction and just walk away from it. Now that wasn't the annoying prick he knew, no not at all. So he had faith in John Watson, the only person who was capable of understanding the detective in a personal level, to help him.

And he could clearly see the detective improving only when John was there to restrain him or beat the hell out of him.

"Tobias," Lestrade turned, looking around for the source of that croaking voice, but unable to find it. Frowning, he brought his eyes down to his feet where Anderson laid, still mangled up and broken. "Mind giving me a hand?"

He looked at the scrawny figure below him with eyes filled with so much pity for the man.

"Oh dear. I wonder how Mycroft would react when he learns of this little incident..."

* * *

Starfleet's Medical Base is one of the best in the world. It's curriculums are like no other, focusing not only on earthly matters, but even stretching itself to new world botany and exobiology. It was enough to catch the attention of Doctor Harrison, seated now in a lone chemistry lab, eyes fixed on the open bodies of extraterrestrial plants around him. His history of being a medic and a general practitioner fueled this strange interest, leading him to apply into the Medical Academy right alongside Starfleet's regular courses.

What really got him was the extraterrestrials. Never in his life would he believe there would be signs of other worlds out in the vast universe but here he was, examining an unknown plant's bizarre organs.

_'Maybe one day the Vulcans would be kind enough to send us a few of their cadavers...'_

As he worked, the doctor noticed the soft sounds of padded footsteps incoming and looked up just in time to greet his visitor. Sherlock Holmes stood in front of the glass sliding doors, sweaty, dirty, and smelling strongly of the sun's rays.

"Uh...fancy meeting you here?" Pulling out his phone, John checked for the time. "You're a bit early, but I really shouldn't be surprised." He looked at Sherlock disapprovingly, but his eyes softened when he noticed the detective's distant gaze and solemn expression. It wasn't like him to be like this, usually he would have come up with a snarky remark or sarcastic smirk for the doctor.

John shed his laboratory coat, revealing the same black Starfleet uniform as Sherlock and all the others who participated in the Eugenics Project, and like Sherlock, John Watson had also gained a bulk of new muscles, strengthening his jaw line and figure. They had all gotten the physique fit for their abilities as promised.

They had all changed physically, some even intelligently, but only Sherlock Holmes changed mentally.

"You okay Khan?" John said as he took a seat on the stool opposite of the quiet detective.

"Don't call me that."

"Oh come on Sherlock, we've been over this for two years now, you should at least be able to accept your own alias-"

"But I do."

"But not from me." Watson looked at Holmes sternly, watching the slow gradation of his blank eyes suddenly scrunch up in anger.

"I hate it. It feels awful. That _name._"

"Don't be foolish you chose it yourself! And as if I recall, you were quite proud of it too!"

Sherlock bolted from his seat and started pacing the room, grabbing his hair in frustration and scrunched up his nose in disgust.

_'Khan.'_ He thought of it.

It wasn't the name itself in particular, it's what it held.

Every supernova in his mind, every _emotion,_ it all detests him. And they were all compiled together and wrapped up in a box with the name _Khan. _

Sherlock had to say it. He had to let someone know of the madness stirring in his brain.

After two long and agonizing years...

"_Khan_ feels like a whole different being instead of an extension of myself! I don't know _why_, I don't know _how_, but my mind is in _pieces_, John! _That_ _change_! That bloody awful memory of waking up from those frozen chambers still echo in my head and it keeps ringing louder and louder every day! I can't get a grasp on my emotions John! My anger! My sadness! It all flows out so easily! My brain gets so easily bombarded with information that I yearn to rip it out of my head! What's happening, John? I feel like I'm suffocating..."

The detective's outburst had succumbed himself in tears, falling down his face but with no acknowledgement. An action greatly emphasizing his situation.

John watched with wide eyes, frozen in shock.

"Sherlock..."

Of course he knew. He knew of this change, everyone knew. But what he didn't know was it's severity.

He stood up and faced the crumbling sociopath. "Sherlock how long has this been in the dark? Who have you told?!"

Worry and frustration clashed in John Watson's heart as Sherlock tried so hard to keep his composure once again.

"Sherlock Holmes!" he grabbed the detective by the shoulders keeping him steady. "You could've told the Admiral! You could've told any of the scientists in this very building! You could've told your brother! You could've bloody told ME earlier! There! Back at the lab when you woke up and I asked you what was wrong!"

Then something clicked in Watson. A cruel realization that he could feel beginning to nest in his chest.

John felt immense guilt weighing down on him as the sight of a few runaway tears on the detective's cheeks caught his eye. It was him who uttered Sherlock's name to the Admiral and he who had convinced the stubborn detective to join! He brought all this pain to him. Sherlock Holmes.

His best friend.

He lowered his arms and looked down sadly, feeling unbefitting of comfort when he had caused the problem.

But Sherlock, who saw the crinkle of skin between the doctor's brows and the deepening frown on the edge of his mouth, stopped John Watson's repugnant thoughts.

"No," he said intently, earning back the doctor's attention. "No, I couldn't have. I never trusted that madman from the very beginning, there would be no way I would call on him just to have him run more tests on me. The scientists here are all the same, all eager for results. My brother knows enough about me and what I've done, I don't need him questioning me and setting up cameras and spies to follow me everywhere I go because of it, and you, John. I joined to keep you safe. To keep all of Scotland Yard safe. It was my decision and mine alone. Understand?"

The very vocabulary of Sherlock Holmes's words of reassurance took John by surprise once again. '_This isn't like you,'_ he thought, avoiding speaking it out loud and stating the very obvious. But in a way...John couldn't complain. Sherlock was opening up. He could see his heart peeking through the dark veil always used to cover up his interior. But he also couldn't rejoice. A heart exposed is fatal and is currently driving him mad.

The few moments of silence hung in the air like webs as the two men wandered in their own thoughts.

John was pushed back into his memories. Awful memories of war, blood, and therapy that he had crammed into the very back corner of his brain. He remembered the feeling of loneliness in that tiny flat of his and it burned him. He remembered the memory of his pathetic leg and the fear that instilled him as he recalled the feeling of not being able to move it properly. He remembered all of it. He knows the feeling of being so alone and not being able to tell anyone about it.

He remembered the first time he had met the strange man clad in a long black coat who had saved him from his despair by fueling him with the temptation of adrenaline.

And of course, he remembered the running.

"I'll help you." John tried for a smile. "We all will, even if you don't want it." He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, now thickened with muscle. Yes, there had been changes, but not all were completely negative.

"You're hair's getting longer," John observed, changing the subject as the he began to tidy his things before leaving for lunch. "Try combing it back for a change, the curls don't suit you any more."

Sherlock looked up at him and feeling a bit like his arrogant self again, released a cocky smirk.

"Not good?" he whispered.

"No, not at all."

Getting up, the two headed for the door, but stopped as John looked back to the taller man.

"Think of us as family, Sherlock, everyone here is a part of it. We can and we will help."

The glass door of the chemistry lab slid open with a swish, and the doctor and the detective walked out together, leaving the scent of disinfectant and the sun trailing behind them.

Sherlock Holmes had saved him, and now it was time to return the favor.

* * *

**A/N Complete OOC Sherlock? Well...you'll get why. Yes I did a time skip don't shoot! I thought it was necessary for my procrastinating mind or else this story would go nowhere. And to those of you looking for Mycroft's involvement in this, don't fret. Just place a slice of cake in front of you while reading and he'll come scurrying, I promise. ;) Hopefully you guys liked this chapter! I loved it, because I got to experiment with Sherlock's transition. Reviews are very much helpful and welcomed! :3**


	7. My Brother

_It's Sherlock again._

_-Greg_

_Please dear inspector, I'd rather you call._

_-M_

_Well, I'd rather not._

_-Greg_

_Very well, but I must complain that this is very much unprofessional. Continue._

_-M_

_I don't care for professionalism at this time, we're talking about your brother here. He's had an outburst on one of my men. Again._

_-Greg_

_I fail to see how this is my problem, granted that he has already ignored all my attempts to get him out of the project and ignored all of my contacts._

_-M_

_Also, it does not help that you all have moved four thousand miles away from London._

_-M_

_You could've just traveled here and spoke to him yourself. You have incredible connections with the British government, a sort of arrangement could have easily taken place._

_-Greg_

_My connections are the reasons why I can't leave. Now back to Sherlock. What is the matter?_

_-M_

_I think you know. You're Mycroft Holmes._

_-Greg_

_My name is irrelevant to the topic, but I get your point. Unfortunately, the Starfleet Organization is out of my grasp. The only information I receive about my brother comes from John, you, and very rarely, Sherlock himself. John had mentioned a change in him ever since you all moved, and that has been the recurring subject of our conversations ever since._

_-M_

_Well, unfortunately that subject is coming back._

_-Greg_

_And how does this differ from the information John is already providing me?_

_-M_

_This one comes from a different perspective._

_-Greg_

_?_

_-M_

_John may have noticed the difference in Sherlock, but not the way the others see it. While with John, I notice Sherlock being more of himself, more controlled. But without him, he seems...erratic._

_-Greg_

_Are you implying that John may be my brother's anchor?_

_-M_

_I'm saying that he's the only one capable of understanding him, and the only one Sherlock seems to trust. But it also gives you the disadvantage of receiving information from John's view. Sherlock is more violent, more destructive, and it's growing worse every day._

_-Greg_

_John had described my brother as being more sensitive._

_-M_

_Has he described his fighting style?_

_-Greg_

_At times, yes. I know that John has always sparred with him and that Sherlock usually fails._

_-M_

_John doesn't come to combat courses as often as the rest, always occupied with his medical courses, but when he does, it's always with Sherlock. By Sherlock's request of course. So technically, he hasn't really seen his destructive side. Plus, everyone's a bloody rag doll compared to John Watson._

_-Greg_

_This 'destructive' side?_

_-M_

_He goes on a rampage! He's mangled every one of his partners to the point that no one really wants to be paired up with him anymore. 'The Great Khan' he's been dubbed as. Don't get me wrong, he's an excellent combater, it's just seems like we have to keep a constant eye on him every day, even away from the training grounds for signs of snapping._

_-Greg_

_An annoyingly great mind put through an experiment that incredibly enhances the person to the point of them being known as superhuman. Do you now know why I strongly refused my brother's decision to partake in it?_

_-M_

_No one ever suspected this outcome._

_-Greg_

_Of course no one did. No one ever does._

_-M_

_My dear little brother, always the cause of misfortune. Alright. I will look into more of the Eugenics Project. For now, continue watching him, and keep John Watson close at hand._

_-M_

_Will do._

_-Greg_

_You do understand that if I shed more light on this project, you and your superhumans will become will be subjected into suspicion._

_-M_

_I know._

_-Greg_

_I sure hope so._

_-M_

* * *

**A/N Mycroft has caught the scent of your cake...**

**Well, this chapter came as a surprise to me. I had an urge to write in a different perspective and something involving Mycroft so I could come up with a smoother transition in the future chapters instead of having to drawl on about him from the very beginning. Yes, I have very big things planned for our eldest Holmes boy. I hope you enjoyed this quick chapter! Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**

***Important! This conversation takes place about the same time as Sherlock and John's conversation in the previous chapter. John hasn't told Mycroft or Lestrade anything yet.**


	8. Storms of Sentiment

**A/N Time to turn on RainyMood for this...**

* * *

_Solemn, ever-changing eyes glanced lazily out the dull windows._

_He watched with slight interest at the droplets of water sliding against the glass, collecting more drops as they traveled farther down. Some were lucky enough to gather into small, flowing streams, but the wind that blew against the windows had caught its tiny victims and sent them flying back out into the air._

_The city outside grew frighteningly dark. The rain and heavy fog that domed over the island seemed as if they were nature's very own depression, screaming in silent agony and unleashing its endless tears to the world. It was such a grievous sight._

_One could even say it was a reflection of Sherlock's current state of mind._

_The young detective was sat up on his bed, unmoving as he watched the clouds roll by outside. He breathed raggedly as he focused with all his power on calming his very own storm that raged in his head. Jagged spikes of thoughts pierced his cranium and unfelt emotions sprouted from the wounds._

_It was never ending._

_Even after John's determined words of consolation, it made no difference to his shattering sanity._

_But Sherlock had faith in his doctor; he kept his very words close to his trust. So every day, he waited out the pain. He carried himself in a brave manner, concealing his demons with a mask resembling his former self._

_He is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective._

_He is Khan, genetically advanced superhuman._

_'Tell me,' he thought, as he buried himself deeper into his tangled mess of sheets and bedding._

_'Who am I?'_

* * *

"Oh for god's sake! This bloody rain is ruining everything!" Lestrade threw his hands up in exasperation as he and all the others watched the storm brew outside through the glass walls of the academy. Sighs of disappointment echoed through the halls.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" the silver haired man crossed his strong arms against his chest angrily and stared at the grey skies with such distaste, it almost looked like as if he was looking through the eyes of mother nature herself.

To think that after living in London for all his life and spending two years in the always dreary city of San Francisco, Greg Lestrade would have already been used to the constant rain.

But not today.

Today was special, long awaited for, and now-

Ruined.

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was the first day of their day off, one out of the three days of every month assigned by Starfleet that granted the Eugenics Project's participants the opportunity to finally venture out into the world. No training, no studies, no restrictions, with the exception of their own guards following behind them to secure their safety. But with today's weather, their hopes of enjoying what the city could offer blew away with the wind.

"Ah fuck!" a voice called out and made the distraught inspector turn. John jogged to Lestrade's side and watched the windows gleam with the water's reflection. His face began to scrunch up in displeasure as he peered over to the city just across the bridge. Fog swirled around the buildings and the deep resonance of thunder began to roll in, making it clear that their relaxing holiday was going to have to be spent inside the Academy.

"A thunderstorm? In bloody San Francisco? Of course this rare occurrence just had to happen on _this_ day!" John sighed.

As the entrance hall began to empty, the two continued to stare out the glass barrier. The wind that blew on the trees and the sound of rain pattering seemed to mock them, indicating that there was no way the skies would clear and the sun would shine today.

Lestrade settled into one of the crisp, white sofas and leaned far back into the cushions. "Well? What now?"

John clicked his tongue.

He wasn't usually one to care about their monthly day offs, let alone get upset about it. On some days, he would even skip the trips with the others and continue on his researches and dissections in the lab. But not this time. This time, he had actually made plans from weeks ago just for this very day. He had informed Lestrade, and together, they had waited anxiously for their awaited holiday.

The plan, however, wasn't really for _their_ enjoyment.

But that doesn't matter now, does it?

"Maybe it's just a one day storm? We do have two more days." Lestrade attempted to assure the doctor, but as his gazed went back out to the darkening skies and endless rain, he mentally scolded himself for his illogical assumption and wanted to take his very words right back.

"I highly doubt that this storm would let up during the rest of the week," John murmured, and began to make his way to the dorms. He drew a disappointed breath once again.

"Operation Save the Sociopath is cancelled."

* * *

John made his way into the labyrinth halls of the Academy's dorms. The windows he passed by still held the same grim color and he slowly accepted the fact that they weren't going to change anytime soon.

"Bollocks," he whispered.

_"I'll help you. We all will..."_

After that conversation no less than a month ago, he kept a watchful eye on the detective, keeping him close, but in a way so he wouldn't suspect. As days went by, he noticed Sherlock acting more like himself around others. This wasn't particularly a good thing to the people Sherlock had interacted with, but to John and Lestrade, they were able to breathe a sigh of relief.

But John knew he wasn't fully restored. Every night, as they parted ways to their own rooms, he would notice that Sherlock would walk a little faster, and slam his door a little harder as if his room would disappear if he didn't get their in time.

John knew that the Sherlock out there was just a facade created to ease him of worry.

That was why he had planned this failed trip. 'Operation Save the Sociopath', Lestrade had dubbed it when John told him. He planned to release the detective out of his confined space and get him away from anything that reminded him of _Khan._

He had promised to help Sherlock the same way he had helped him a long time ago.

By going out on an adventure.

But right now, John felt like he had failed.

The saddened doctor became almost too absorbed in his own self loathing and just barely missed his destination. Turning around, he went back to the chrome steel dorm door marked with silver numbers that differentiated it from all the others.

Before he walked in, John was able to shut off the noise of the rain against glass and listened closely to the happenings behind the door.

He held his breath.

_Nothing._

John exhaled slowly as he got closer to the door and began knocking.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, I know you're in there."

_Nothing._

"It's Harrison."

Somehow the silence grew stiffer and John rolled his eyes.

"It's John."

As a few seconds ticked by, John just stood there with his arms crossed, waiting. Then, the red lock light beeped green, and with the slight touch of the steel, the dorm door slid open silently, welcoming the doctor into its dark interior.

The room itself was lit only by the faint glow of the clocks and by the grand window near the middle of the room with its curtains wide open. It was a simple place, filled with incomplex decor and necessities. The large study table however, was littered with test tubes, beakers, and microscopes, revealing the old habbits of the consulting detective. John smiled at the mess. Usually back at 221B, he would've scolded Sherlock and made him tidy up the place to the best of his abilities, but now, he yearned for clutter. For clothes piled on the sofa or food left on the kitchen counter. For the shoes stains on the carpet or the melody of a violin filling the room and seeping out the door.

All he wanted now was to see the signs of life in this near perfect room.

The corner of John's mouth tugged downwards.

He took each step slowly towards the bed that laid in the corner of the room next to the window. A great lump of sheets were bundled on top, revealing the figure of a brooding man.

Outside, the thunder began to moan again.

"Sherlock."

John stood before the unmoving blankets. Reaching for the edges, he carefully peeled away the covers. Dark hair spilled out on the pillows, its charcoal color clashing against the stark white. Going further down, the sheets were removed to reveal a pale and angled face looking up at the doctor.

The two stared at each other in the dark, each trying to find the light in the other's eyes, but both held a sombre gleam that matched with the sky.

John opened his mouth to speak, and began to think through his words of apologies. He felt horrible for failing to even arrange one simple day for the detective's sake.

"What?" Pitiful eyes questioned the doctor.

Sherlock's voice had grown deeper. John had noticed this for some time now, the detective's voice was lower and grimmer than before.

All of a sudden, he felt his hands twitch. He ached to punch that stupid face of his, right on the cheekbones. A certain rage flared in John as Sherlock continued to stare with blank eyes.

_'Stop changing, goddammit!'_

Quick arms thrusted out and grabbed Sherlock's collar harshly, shaking the depressing man out of his bed covers. The detective's eyes widened in utter disbelief and had no time to react to John's sudden action.

Watson brought Sherlock up to eye level, his blue eyes flickered in annoyance and its brilliant light color brightened the room with indignation.

"Get up Holmes, I'm sick of you moping around in this goddamn room!" The raving doctor was then able to drag the stunned man out of his bed and into his feet. Grabbing a coat and shoes, John threw the apparel at Sherlock and wasted no time out the door.

Normally, if anyone had the nerves to do what John Watson just did to the Great Khan, they would have already been grounded into dust. Even simply _knocking_ on Khan's door would have gotten the bravest soldier mangled in a way the regeneration of the body would be utterly impossible.

Sherlock at that very moment was delving into the depths of his insanity. He was at his most unstable point that day and had locked himself off from the others.

But John Watson didn't give a _fuck._

And Sherlock couldn't do a thing.

Why? Because it was the doctor's orders.

The disarranged mind of his went into sudden shock as John snapped, leaving confusion and incredulity the only thing in Sherlock's head.

John led the way down from the dorms and back out onto the halls with the detective right on his heels. He had no idea what had came over him-all he knew was that it felt as if he had finally swam out of dark, muddy waters.

The dark and foreboding room, the way Sherlock looked at him with pathetic eyes all curled up in his bed like a brat. It _pissed_ him off. This wasn't him. This wasn't the arrogant bastard he knew

_'And to think_ I _was going to_ apologize!'

He stomped his way out the doors of the Academy and had pulled Sherlock right out into the pouring rain. Grabbing the sleeves of his coat, Watson dragged Holmes in one of the slick, black, Starfleet cars parked right in front of the entrance. These were provided for the participants for their three day holiday to use around the city, but the storm had rudely prevented the opportunity of going outside.

However, a little rain, wind and thunder didn't stop John as he was determined to persist on saving the sociopath.

The car sped right through the renowned Golden Gate Bridge, the powerful winds and slippery roads threatened to blow the vehicle out on the treacherous sea.

"JOHN! WHAT THE HELL-" Sherlock screamed as he clung on to his seat as John maneuvered through the steep hills of San Francisco. The city streets were dead empty; no one as reckless or insane would dare to drive out during a storm, especially when you live in the city by the bay. Every step of the acceleration and every stomp of the brakes was a knock on death's door.

But John was not only reckless and insane, he was also a genetically engineered superhuman. His quick reaction times and adaptable actions helped in guiding the car into a safe and complete stop in the middle of Union Square.

"Out, Sherlock."

"What?"

"Out."

"You're delusional."

"No, to my knowledge and your self proclamation, _you_ are. Now out."

The car doors creaked in protest as it was forcefully opened against the strong winds. It was no problem for the two, however, as they stepped out of the storm with ease and normality. Thunder clapped once more.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock shouted above the rain. His petty coat did nothing to prevent the cold from icing his body, drenching everything as soon as he stepped out of the car. Ignoring the harshness of mother nature, Sherlock looked to John, who stood gaping at the sky.

"John?"

Even through the downpour of water, Sherlock could see John's gaze flicker to him.

"Sherlock Holmes! Khan Noonien Singh! I've had enough of your nonsense!" Watson and Holmes stood across from each other with the stygian vehicle between them.

"Stop this. Stop it, right now." John continued. The baffled detective began to open his mouth in rebuttal but was quickly ignored.

"No! You listen to me! You are the smartest human being I've ever met. You're first words to me absolutely amazed me. Now use your intellect to help _yourself_! You're mind is corrupting because you still don't have the ability to control your heightened emotions! No. Not only that! You don't want to _accept_ it! All your life you've mastered the technique of keeping yourself controlled to avoid anything getting in the way of your work! This time don't push it back, Sherlock! Let it slowly adapt to you! That's what our new bodies are capable of doing, right? Adapting? So please, Sherlock! Stop this madness! Stop hiding! I told you, I'm here to help you!"

John let out a sore breath. He had enough of this dead-man act. He can't take being surrounded in the detective's depressing aura; it reminded him too much of his once lonesome life.

Sherlock stared down at his feet, eyes stinging from oncoming tears. His mind raced with the thought of succumbing to this insanity, this _sentiment._

Stop? How could he stop! He hated it. How could he accept it? No. he can't let them fall. _Feeling_ is ridiculous. _Sadness_ was unbearable.

"Don't fight your demons, Sherlock. Listen to them."

Sherlock's head whipped up to find the dear doctor smiling. Realizing that John Watson could see right through his very being, wide eyes trembled with hesitation. He was still afraid of slipping. Afraid of losing himself.

_'I've always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings. But you see? Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.'*_

"De ja vu..." Sherlock whispered. The detective slowly began to move away from John's sight, turning to face the empty streets before him. Lifting his head up, he felt each cold drop of rain that fell on his face and began to unfurl his chaotic mind.

A sudden warmth dripped from his eyes, sliding against his cheeks and mixing with the icy water.

John could only watch from a distance as Sherlock attempted to heal. Not only had Sherlock have faith in his doctor, but he had faith on the detective as well. Sherlock was a genius, an annoying dick, and his best friend, and he's never going to allow that to change.

"Tell me John," Sherlock murmured against the downpour. He began to concentrate on the pain. "What shall I do know?"

John grinned and looked around the empty streets. "Well, it is our holiday. We're in the city with a damn good car, and it's pouring like hell. I think you ought to enjoy this day off I've planned for you. Sorry I couldn't get you a nice murder."

The two looked at each other with friendly amusement, the darkness around them seeming to fade from the gleam of their eyes. Sherlock found himself becoming more comfortable under the gloomy weather, where he was away from the stark quietness of his room and the blinding white walls of the Academy.

"If only I was allowed to take it out on the walls, maybe I wouldn't have this foolish problem?" he mused.

"Oh no, you took it out on many people, Sherlock, it wouldn't make much of a difference."

And in that single moment, the harsh sound of the rain seemed to hush around the city, allowing the resonance of two people laughing heartily to echo amidst the silent city.

Even if it was just for a brief moment, the saved sociopath was able to control the storm and began to appreciate the rain.

* * *

**A/N This went a lot better in my head, trust me. And John's got ****_rage, _****I know. He's not putting up with Sherlock's temperament any longer. That's what happens when you genetically increase the human mind. Just imagine the women involved oh god. **

***Quote from the 'Hounds of Baskerville' **

**Reviews are helpful and welcomed!**


	9. Augments

**Jawn: The previous chapter was literally the gayest thing I've ever read. Really? The two of us in the rain together?**

**Blah:Shuddup.**

* * *

_To Starfleet's Admiral Professor in charge of the Eugenics Project,_

_We here in the British government have just got word about your research from one of our esteemed source, and ever since, news of your project spread like wildfire amongst the other nations. In request and requirement, we ask for your approval to visit the Academy and inspect the quite successful research. We would very much prefer you yourself, Admiral, to guide us through your past and the future of Starfleet Organization. The United World Nations would like to thank you for your contributions to science and hope to receive your reply soon._

_United World Nations_

* * *

Admiral Professor Eugene couldn't be any more happier one particular evening. Aside from the long and tedious flight to Headquarters, The admiral expected an eventful day.

Today was the day the world's nations would gather in front of him and give their raw reactions to his research.

Eugene felt deeply honoured, having to be personally asked to give the grand tour. He knew he had to make a wonderful impression. He would be representing the Starfleet's very own Medical and Scientific sect after all.

Not only were the guest the only thing on his mind, but so were his creations. It would be the first time in two years that he would be able to examine his subjects in person rather than through screens and projections. He wanted to see how much they've improved and how much they've gained and show them off to the world.

Deep inside, the admiral knew that all would go smoothly and perfectly.

He was beyond eager to begin.

* * *

Everyone was in a buzz.

During one fine morning, the people of the Eugenics project awoke to the news of today being a very important and crucial day for everyone.

Training was rushed and breaks were skipped, only to be replaced by more rigorous training and inspections. An announcement was broadcasted throughout the halls, reaching everyone's avid ears. The world's nations top representatives would be conducting a very special analysis on the project and along with them, the professor Eugene himself would be back to introduce his research.

Voices hummed in static elation and also anxiousness, all except for one.

The one individual who still snarls at the mention of the old man and his psychotic smile. He himself had been improving, yes, with the help of many generous people as he explained his situation, but his thoughts on the very scientist who had created _Khan_ still hasn't changed.

He doesn't trust him. He could spot the madness swirling in those crinkled eyes.

The group had been escorted back inside as soon as the the afternoon bell had sounded. Quickly and efficiently, new Starfleet uniforms were handed to each and every one of them and was told to tidy themselves up. As they laid hands on the ink-black material, silent faces of shock appeared as they felt the touch of new fabric against their skin. It's texture had a boggling fusion of silk, cotton, and feathers, but at the same time, felt tough as carbon fiber.

Starfleet always had something new up their sleeves and could never disappoint.

As the centuplicate got dressed in their new melanoid uniforms, each were then presented with a small treasure that gleamed cryptically, even in the dark.

Pinned right on their breast, the image of the Starfleet insignia generated the feeling of accomplishment and pride in each one the superhumans. They found comfort in the black coldness of the badge, giving them the confidence as they awaited their special visitors.

They finally felt complete.

* * *

The aircraft droned above Fort Baker, California where the hard to miss location of the brilliant Starfleet Headquarters resided. Behind its trail, numerous ships similar to it followed. The spectacular scene of many crafts surrounding the Academy was enough to catch the awestruck attention of the many student and faculty members unaware of the coming of very important visitors.

As the aircrafts docked, men and women adorned in suits of experience stepped out professionally with their heads held high and walked eruditely. These were the representatives of the top nations, refined and experienced. They held their composure in check as they all met in the great entrance hall of the Academy, but the expressions in their eyes exposed their truth.

Enthusiasm sparked their curious minds as they awaited for the Admiral Professor and drank in the sights of the achievements of the well renowned Starfleet Organization.

Students who roamed the campus watched conspicuously at the odd group, wondering ignorantly whether they were visiting parent or tourists, unknowing of their superior ranks.

Not a moment later, the admiral himself appeared to greet the assembly. Compared to the decorative and elaborate garbs worn that represented their nation, the professor stuck out like a single star across the night sky. Simply dressed, he was draped only in the brilliant white of a lab coat with his hands tucked neatly in the pockets. But the look of experience on his face and posture was enough to amplify his image, making some of the young representatives feel a bit more intimidated by the senior's authority.

"Welcome, honoured company, to Starfleet Academy. I, and many of the others who have worked along side me, are greatly humbled to be blessed with this magnificent opportunity." The old admiral took a bow of professionality.

"As you all know, I was personally asked to show you all the product of my research, and I was very happy to oblige. Truth be told, I too will be seeing them for the first time in a long while, so any surprise will be shared. This project has been my life ever since this organization was born, and I hope in the very bottom of my heart that you can find the appreciation and respect that I had poured into this from the very beginning."

The tour started off introducing the many scientists who helped the professor throughout the duration of theory and hypotheses. The representative's were very much surprised as they notice many young scientists partaking in such a huge project, but Eugene assured that the best and the brightest were hand picked by himself. These were the people he trusted. The next generation of Starfleet's able minds.

Soon, the moment came when the group stood in front of the large doors of the laboratories. Although small compared to the one back at London, it was still admirable enough to impress the foreign visitors.

Hands twitched with nervous thrill and smiles had to be forcibly contained. They knew it was time. Behind those walls held the future of human superiority, and all that was blocking them from feeding their intellectual interest was a man in a lab coat and the large doors behind him.

The professor turned to make an introduction.

"We have finally come to the point where the future is just beyond our reach. This room currently contains one hundred different men and women all chosen from a great division. They have spent two years of their reborn lives training and refilling their knowledge here in this prestigious Academy. I haven't seen them since. Please excuse me if I ever freeze to marvel at their improvement."

The group chuckled.

The admiral took a deep breathe. "Well now, enough chatting I suppose. Let's see our main attraction."

With the slow creak of the metal doors sliding open, a bright artificial light had flooded the room and the sight in which they beheld next was completely wondrous.

Rows and rows of black-cladded bodies stood next to each other in perfect arrangement. Stern faces marked each and every one of them and they stood with strict posture.

The nation's representatives could not believe their eyes.

The admiral, as predicted, froze in utter amazement.

One hundred people lined absolutely like the stern copies of terra cotta soldiers stood before him. He noticed the curves of strong muscle against the dark fabric that wasn't there before, and felt the air of discipline that had grew stronger the last time he had been with them.

Not only had he created superhuman beings,

He had created soldiers.

The silence drawn from shock was incredible.

"Amazing..." one uttered with a single breath.

After a few seconds of appreciation, the professor had snapped back to reality, remembering his astonished guests.

"This is truly a sight worth beholding, agreed?" he coughed. "It's a strange thing, what a few years could do to a person."

He walked up to the front. "My dear participants! Nothing truly makes me happier than seeing the great differences in you! You have my respects! Now please, at ease."

Nothing relieved the old admiral than seeing his creations respond to his military lingo with a wave of his hand. The strictness of the room soon dissipated, and the obsidian dressed men and women relaxed with a triumphant smile on their faces. They knew from the looks of their visitors that they had succeeded in making their best impressions.

The representatives and the subjects met with gracefully respect. The two groups watched each other in fascination.

"What do you call yourselves? Your improved selves, I mean?" one eager nation asked.

"Uh...well, now that I think about it, we haven't really had the opportunity to think of a name. We never really saw ourselves as no other than _human_." Professor Eugene, upon hearing the conversation, included himself in the gathering.

"Let's think of one right now, shall we? After all, you all are definitely unique beings deserving of a new title."

"I don't think we're worthy of such praise," a subject replied humbly. "We're just simple augments of normal people." Then it struck one of the clever agents who snapped his fingers with enthusiasm.

"Augments! A fitting name don't you think?"

The professor gave a toothy smile.

"I quite like it. A perfect description of you advanced humans. And who knows, someday in the future, maybe we'll be able to replace the term 'human' with this new title. Welcome, Augments!"

As approvable rose, only one deprecated the idea. The tall man scoffed. Like hell will he be named as so. Beside him, his short friend gave a grumbled glance, as if to behave the averse man.

"Professor," a large man spoke, hoping to gain the attention of the popular admiral. But his position was not for one to ignore. He wore a clean black suit, accessorized with chains and buttons of gold and silver. He was rather big, but the shape of his plump stomach and the roundness of his face seemed to suit him like a glove. Although seeming old and kind, the large man had a small pistol concealed behind his coat pockets. He was a paranoid one, keeping a weapon for safety with him just in case.

The admiral turned to give his best attention.

"I am one of the United Kingdom representatives, I am here to congratulate you for your wonderful achievement. These people are like a fictitious world to me, straight out of a different planet." The two shared a friendly laugh.

"Tell me my dear man, are you perhaps the representative who had sent me the invitation?"

"Indeed."

"Oh I should be grateful for you instead! This fine opportunity will lead to greater recognition of the Augments than I could do alone!"

"Don't thank me, kind admiral. One of our sources from the British Secret Service has brought up the topic of Starfleet and its Eugenics Project. He insisted that we observe and report."

"Well I thank the mystery man."

"Now tell me all about these Augments, I'd like to have a short history lesson about them. What are their abilities and traits that differ them from us?"

The admiral's eyes beamed with excitement. He was finally able to show off his best creations.

"The Augments are a spectacular experiments, the very future of the human specie, as I have said before. As their name suggests, they are advanced beings. Everything about them has been increased. They are designed to be five times stronger and twice as intelligent. Their immune system is basically resistant with enhanced senses, their heart muscles twice as strong and lung efficiency fifty percent better. I even theorize that their lifespan would be twice as long as a regular persons, but my favorite trait would have to be their amazing regenerative abilities."

The plump representative was awestruck. "A healing ability? Remarkable! This could greatly improve the world's medical advances! You are a genius my dear professor!"

"Remarkable indeed! By the time they had stepped out of their pods, the punctured skin of theirs from the needles had puckered and disappeared in a matter of seconds!"

Curious ears listened carefully at the professor's miraculous words. Gasps and praises were thrown out to him, filling his ego to the brim.

He had never felt so accomplished.

"I don't suppose you can give us a demonstration?"

Eugene, intoxicated by acclamation, impetuously agreed. He looked around for an object of harm when his eyes locked in on the small barrel of a gun poking out of the chubby man's undercoat.

"My good sir, if you would please." he asked eagerly, pointing at the small weapon. The surprised representative looked at the professor with hesitance, slowly pulling the gun out of his pockets.

"A-are you sure professor? A small cut on the arm would do, we don't need anything too brash-" The professor gave a rude snort of amusement. The paranoid representative, afraid of the man's actions, began to reluctantly hide his gun back into his coat.

"Nonsense! Many people have been wounded by gunshots all over the world! Let me demonstrate to you how this could be easily fixed with the abilities of my Augments!"

The crazed professor snatched the small pistol away from the man's thick hands, and loaded the gun. The representatives and the Augments separated, the humans quickly running behind the professor, watching with wide eyes.

The admiral professor still frenetic in his own delirium pointed the barrel to one of his unknowing subjects.

"Observe."

He aimed not with thought, but only to impress his superiors.

Smiling his eerie, wrinkled smile, he pulled the trigger and watched as one unfortunate doctor fell to his knees.


	10. Lost

_"Please God, let me live."_

_He remembered that blur of a memory as clear as sunlight._

_Hot._

_Yes. That was it. That was the word. The one that perfectly described his surroundings._

_It was hot._

_He recalled the numbness of his leg as it was pinned down hard, his face contorted against the desert sun, gunshots still echoing above him,_

_and the blood. He couldn't forget that. So much blood..._

_His..._

_The attacker's..._

_his comrade's..._

_"WATSON!"_

_Everything was shutting down._

_"Hold on! Hold on! He's bleeding way too much!"_

_Everything was slipping._

_"It's-shoulder-get him-loosing too mu- "_

_Everything but the pain._

_His eyes snapped open as the wound on his shoulder began to blossom. He could feel that single bullet deep in his muscles as they contracted. It was like a small flame encased inside an armor coating, radiating so much heat that it stung like hot iron._

_Hot._

_Yes, it was hot, and it burned him..._

* * *

"JOHN!"

"Mr. Harrison!"

"Harrison!"

"John!"

A single shot. That's what all it took to set fire on the air around them.

John Watson fell against the white tile floors, clutching his shoulder as he felt the projected impact. A small stream of blood slid down his arm and stained the ground, producing such a livid color contrast against the black uniforms and the white lab, it almost seemed surreal.

That single shot. That one bullet, had dug it's way right into the dark stain of a scar on the doctor's shoulder, recreating the wound the mark had healed years ago.

Physically, there was no pain; his augment body didn't allow it. But his amplified mind went berserk.

It was as if time began to mock John, thrusting him back into the dry, Afghanistan desert.

"John! John, look at me!"

His knees stayed planted on the ground. His eyes fixated on the drops of red splattering on the floor.

_'No pain...'_ he assured himself. There was nothing. He could already feel his skin crawl around the wound, and he could already hear the gasps of amazement.

So why couldn't he move?

Suddenly, he saw flashes. Flashes of white, of the desert, of his soldiers...

_'No-'_ In striking realization, John felt himself panicking. That replication of his bullet wound had triggered his PTSD, and his mind had added the fuel to the now raging fire in his memories.

He clutched his head. No, this couldn't be happening. John Watson hadn't had an anxiety attack in years, let alone a physical one! All his previous attacks were set into nightmares. He could always escape with the fluttering of open eyelids, waking himself up by gasping for breath and drowning in his own sweat. But now, he didn't know what to do.

He was awake. He could vividly _feel_ the terror rising up inside him.

_Gunshots, shouts, explosions._

_"Captain!"_

"JOHN!"

Blue eyes snapped back into reality, and he found himself breathing ruggedly, hyperventilating as if he was silently sobbing. His chest felt heavy and his mind was in pieces. He couldn't speak, nor move on his own will.

John Watson sat frozen in the middle of the lab as he had to relive that memory over and over again.

_"Please God, let me live..."_

* * *

Lestrade watched as John Watson fell.

He couldn't believe what he saw. He couldn't believe it as he heard the shot come from the direction of the professor's hands. The trembling gun in his grip.

The crude smile plastered on his face.

"Harrison!" he called out, slowly moving towards the frozen doctor. A gentle hand was placed on his back. "Harrison, look here,"

No response.

_'What the hell is happening?'_

The lab was in commotion. Confused and frightened Augments stuck close to the inspector, screaming at him for instructions. They had no other choice but to reestablish him as their superior, now that they feared for the admiral professor.

"SHUT UP!" Lestrade shouted back, still trying to bring John back to his senses but to no avail. Using his analyzing eyes, he began to deduce the doctor.

He pulled back the tear on the uniform, exposing the wound framed by the dark, wrinkled scar.

His eyes widened at the definite accuracy. It was frighteningly spot on the old wound.

"Trauma," he whispered.

_'Hyperventilation, dilated pupils, unresponsiveness,'_

"He's having an anxiety attack!" he uttered, calling a few calmed Augments for help, but instead came forth insensible humans, intrigued by the way skin healed around the bullet wound. He watched in disbelief as they edged closer.

"Fascinating!" one called out, even giving the slightest of a grin as he moved forward.

Lestrade fumed. "FUCK OFF!"

He felt enraged by the ignorance of some people, and in one sudden motion of his arm, threw the unwary representative back, snarling at him.

The others watched in fear.

He watched himself in fear. He rarely exploded, let alone let one idiot bother him. So why was he so angry?

_Angry._

Lestrade lifted his head, eyes wide with remembrance. He whipped back at John, then frantically searched the entire room.

"Oh my god." he breathed.

In the center of chaos, a man trod his way to the cause. A deep, hateful aura came off him strongly, his eyes dead set on the trembling professor. Knuckles cracked in loud protest as his fist closed tighter.

Eugene looked up, dropping the weapon from his shaky hands and dared to stare at the man's darkening eyes.

"Khan..." he whispered in awe as he reunited with his best subject. He remembered him. The clever consulting detective.

Undauntedly, he took a small step forward and reached out.

A foolish action for a foolish man.

As the name '_Khan_' rang in his head once again, the frail, extended arm of the professor was suddenly caught in the tight grip of the foreboding Augment. Old bones shattered in his wrists with the slightest movement. His face, contorted in pain, screamed a breathless gasp of agony. His stare was still locked, unable to break away; afraid.

The admiral professor was afraid.

And Khan sensed it. He felt it as he twisted every bone in the man's arm. Every time he opened his mouth, yet nothing came out. The way he pleaded with his eyes.

"P-please...sto-stop..."

It sickened him.

"How dare you even beg for your life?" a low whisper resonated.

"How dare you point your gun at John Watson? How dare you utter that name with a smile?

_How DARE you!"_

Holding a face of pure stoicness and ruthlessness, he snapped the professor's arm back, pulling until he heard the inevitable click of the joints popping off and threw him against the solid laboratory walls. Loyal scientists rushed towards their admiral, defending him with their blanching bodies. Khan just looked with malevolence.

He decided the fate of the poor professor. He decided that he would die by the hands of his own creation.

The slightest shuffle.

A haggard breath.

Khan turned around and found the plump representative shaking with the gun in his hands, aiming at his head.

He sneered in belittlement at the coward human.

Two shots were fired carelessly, hitting the walls behind the tempered Augment instead.

That's when dark eyes turned violent.

Within seconds, Khan had knocked the atrocious weapon out of grubby hands and placed his own against the man's head, trapping him between his fury.

"You were very bold handing your gun to that madman. You even had the nerve to shoot. You share as much responsibility as he does. You _DESPISE_ me."

Khan began to unleash his strength on the unfortunate man. Like magnets, his hands began to move closer and closer, squeezing the skull that came in between them.

There was no more control.

No more sanity.

No more Sherlock Holmes.

A loud, tormenting cry echoed throughout bleach white walls.

Then a sickening sound of death stained the blanched color red with blood.

* * *

Lestrade saw everything.

He saw the gruesome act unfold right before his eyes and he refused to believe.

To believe the reality of the detective, covered in blood but this time, by his own doing.

Khan's eyes flickered towards the unconscious admiral professor being rushed out the door and started for him, stepping over the lurid body he had shattered.

His next victim.

Lestrade needed to stop him. He needed to bring back the Sherlock that John had so desperately tried to revive. But now he was unsure.

But he needed to try.

Pushing himself off his knees and leaving John in the care of one curly haired comrade, the detective inspector charged towards Khan.

Like boulders, two strong bodies collided against each other, Lestrade restraining Khan while he waited for every human to be rushed out of the laboratory.

"Snap out of it, man! Harrison's fine! John's fine! He's already healing!" he huffed, hoping to assure the exacerbated man, but found his restraints ineffective by Khan's power.

Twisting his body underneath and weakening the inspector's knees, Khan was able to switch their positions, his hands now clasped around Lestrade's neck like a vise, ignoring the clawing attempts made on his face and torso.

He sneered at the inspector, losing sight of who he was.

"Don't lie to me!" he snarled, gripping the neck tighter as Lestrade struggled harder. "Don't pretend I didn't hear you! You said it yourself, didn't you! His mind is in shambles isn't it?! That bastard triggered something! That's worst than a fucking bullet wound!"

Lestrade could feel cold fingers digging deeper into his skin, spots danced around his vision as the pain grew more prominent.

Any second longer and his neck would give out, shattering like the skull of the unfortunate representative.

"Kh-K...Khan..."

Right across from them, John's eyes began to lose it's haze. The desert sun began to dissipate, revealing a cold, chaotic whiteness around him. He could feel his body returning back to him, shifting himself away from his kneeling position. He could smell blood.

He could hear Lestrade's choking cry for help.

Lifting his head, he saw the empty space, a blood-soaked man, and a cruel battle between two Augments.

Lestrade met John's eyes.

He couldn't comprehend what he saw.

"Sherlock..." he whispered, gaping at his current form. The man he knew was lost in those clouded eyes. He was replaced by a savage.

"SHERLOCK!" For the tiniest second, Khan had recognized his voice; his name. Lestrade took this small window of opportunity to push the feral man off him before he suffered consequences.

John ran to him.

"Harri...John-no! Get away from him!" Lestrade choked out, calling the doctor away. But John ignored. He knew it was a wasted breath.

"Sherlock!" John repeated his name as if to hammer it into his corrupt mind. He was Sherlock Holmes. He is not a murderer.

Khan's flickered between savagery and intellect, watching John with befuddled eyes.

Anger and sentiment.

Malice and comprehension.

Khan and Sherlock.

"John?" Sherlock whispered, as his mind began to reel into darkness. His vision clouded and his body numbed as he fell deeper into the dark depths of unconsciousness.

The being named Khan began to swallow him whole.

* * *

_United World Nations Conference Meeting_

_London, England_

"This is entirely unforgivable!"

"Utterly barbaric!"

"This is a major threat to our nations-_OUR_ world!"

"But-"

"The death of an esteemed representative is enough evidence to justify their brutality!"

"They will kill us all if they continued to live!

"Sir, if you just-"

"This project was nothing more than a demented man's creation!"

"We need to end this, before word reaches out."

"Agreed!"

"Those in favor?"

A thousand hands shot up in the air, all except for one.

A startled brother, guilty of the incident.

Mycroft Holmes watched in horror as his ignorant message about the Eugenics Project as an attempt to save his little brother became the death of him. His word's searched for a rebuttal; a reason to let the Augments live, but he found himself empty.

The holder of the conference stood up with stern strictness, eyeing the entire room. Mycroft had no choice but to back down.

"I issue, by the consent of all nations and by the death of an innocent man, the termination of Starfleet's Eugenics Project as a threat to mankind." Murmurs of approval rose in the room.

"And the fate of these 'Augments' will be received justly...

By execution."

* * *

**A/N Sorry, I procrastinated-I mean pfft I meant for that six-day delay to happen. o_o **

**I was busying studying Khan(in an informative way for the sake of the fanfiction-ahem-)**

**So yeah, at this point everything's going downhill from here obviously, and I assure you I will not make it easy for the characters ^-^ Reviews are ****_very _****much helpful and welcomed! :3**


	11. Catalyst

Mycroft walked with an air of authority as he passed through the cryptic halls of his domain. His beloved umbrella dragged behind him, his master in no mood to entertain. Not even a spark of the infamous Holmes charm leaked out of the anxious man.

He was simply seething mad.

_'Execution._

_Execution._

_**Execution**__.'_

He clicked his tongue.

Something weighed down the usually proficient man's heart. Something that made his thoughts jumble up in erroneousness and his chest clench up in an odd way, and then it struck him.

What he was feeling was the dark burden of grief nesting in his conscience.

He hated it, and it was all because of his protective inclination to watch over his troublesome brother.

Upon reaching his destination, he slammed his office doors open in a pit of rage in which the empty room rattled in response.

Mycroft sighed as he sunk deeper into his chair.

"Out of all the shenanigans he had brought upon himself..." he accused. "How do I explain this to mother now, Sherlock?"

He sat there for hours, evading sleep and waiting for more declarations from his superiors. Even though he brought the blame onto himself, he praised his clever mind for giving a slick but rational reason to delay the procession.

_"Family!" Mycroft blurted out as the council began to rise from their seats. Inquisitive eyes began to stare him down._

_"I beg your pardon Mr. Holmes?"_

_He smirked. This was his opportunity to play the sentiment card. Resuming his properness, Mycroft began to speak._

_"These people have families, don't they? According to my investigations, these 'Augments' were once belonging to a large division of Scotland Yard. Surely people will talk if we discard of them without thinking first of the population's suspicions." Amongst the veil of stoicness, he was trembling._

_"There were no records of their original identities, am I correct, Mr. Holmes? Even to your extent, Starfleet surely had a way in disclosing their personal information."_

_"But that does not mean they don't have anyone waiting for them."_

_The whole council looked down in thought. He could feel it. Sentimental guilt eating away at their hearts._

_Within moments, his superiors had decided to plan another mean of dealing with the threats in a more careful way. It was still an execution - he couldn't change their minds about that - but he took it. It was enough to buy him more time to think of his own plans._

_"Mycroft," The leading councilman spoke as he began to leave the now empty meeting room. The two of them faced each other with much uneasiness. "Do you, perhaps have someone in that project you call family? Is that the cause of this unexpected outburst from you?"_

_The eldest Holmes boy stiffened involuntarily, but not visibly. His mind raced with images of his days as a young brother to a small Sherlock Holmes. The unexpected calls from the detective inspector tricking him to a drink and the long chats with John Watson about the man they both had cared for dearly. Somewhere in Mycroft's icy fortress of a heart, he knew he had established his own tight-knit bonds._

_He looked sternly into the councilman's skeptical eyes. It was then he began to feel that strange heavy weighed bearing into his chest as he spoke._

_"No. No one at all."_

The inescapable blare of a ringing phone woke Mycroft up from his floating thoughts. He let the noise fill his head before picking it up and placing the device near his ears.

"Sir, we've just got word from the council,"

"And?" he began to rub his face anxiously.

"They've made their decision. It's already set to due course soon."

* * *

They waited for what seemed like an eternity detained in a large unknown room deep within the Academy. There were no clocks present, no windows to reveal the pace of the sun nor anything to indicate how many days have passed or hours that slugged by.

The wait was maddening.

But nothing compared to John Watson.

He paced around the room tirelessly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, squeezing them shut as if reality would vanish if he tried hard enough to push it away, but the frighteningly prominent images of the incident still revered back to him at the worst of times.

"Damnit..." he kept whispering.

Lestrade saw the doctor battle himself. Hell, he had nothing but the doctor to see. The room they were put into were filled to the brim with frightened and confused Augments not knowing of what would happen when those steel metal doors would once again slide open.

"You okay?"Lestrade watched John with carefulness.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes! Christ..."

"You did get shot in the bloody shoulder, mate!"

"Jesus Greg! That was already a while ago-it's nothing! Look! Not even a fucking scratch...I just panicked, okay? I don't know-I-I really don't-ugh!"

His frustrations began to worsen - John would never act this way, but the strange occurrences of their altered minds became very much pronounced.

And Lestrade knew the feeling, so he didn't blame him for his overreactions. He remembered feeling that heat of anger during that time. The inescapable surge of aggression.

The inspector gave a dim chuckle.

"Greg...I haven't heard that name for a long while now. Wow, what surprises me the most is that I'm surprised for hearing my own name! My real name I mean. Ah, the things mother would do to me if she ever found out..." He caught John's eyes turn sympathetic.

Giving a grunt another sigh, he stopped his concernings and turned to the inspector.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to react that way it's just-"

Lestrade raised a hand to pause him and smiled. "No, it's alright, I understand - we're all feeling it."

"It's just Sherlock..." The crease in the inspector's brow deepened, and he gave a long and tired breath.

"I don't know. Honestly, I wish I could give you an answer but-I just don't know, John." With strong but steady fingers, he massaged circles onto his temples, hoping to relieve himself of the traced his collar bone. The gruesome ache on his neck was still there - haunting him of those corrupt eyes that bore into his with the intent to kill.

Lestrade knew that wasn't Sherlock anymore. Sherlock Holmes was dead.

But he didn't have it in him to tell John Watson.

He remembered the look of alarm in his eyes when he watched the unconscious body of the detective being dragged out of the room in such a crude manner. He felt panic in his veins as they themselves were led away.

"It's worth an ask but, suppose you know where they took him?" Lestrade couldn't help but chuckle at such a pointless question.

"I don't even know where we are, mate."

John grimaced. He was worried. Beyond that. So was Lestrade - so was everyone else. Not just for themselves, but for him. For Sherlock.

For _Khan_.

Someone was always there to restrain the sociopath, and God knows what will happen when he was to be left alone; his mind free to wander out of sanity.

With a sigh, the two sat amongst the crowd, watching the unmoving doors that held their outcome, having nothing to do but wait.

But an awful, screeching _bang_ soon rang out, reaching even the boggled Augments through thick, steel walls.

They stared with wide eyes, and within moments, the heavy, metal doors slowly slid open.

* * *

Eugene woke to a small beeping right by his bedside. Groggy with medications flowing about his bloodstream, he turned his head slowly, taking in the sight of Starfleet's hospital ward. It was always frighteningly white.

His milky eyes drooped sleepily and he gave an exhausted breath. He wanted to ignore that confounded beeping, whatever it was, but the annoying sound just rang louder and more extrusive. Giving up, he gathered whatever's left of his strength in his good arm to reach across and find the cause of his disturbance. He grunted painfully as one little twist affected his torn shoulder.

Long fingers found a slick, cold and hard device vibrating underneath his hands, and the admiral professor suddenly jutted awake. He lifted himself up to much challenge, his confused gaze lingered on the tiny phone still ringing in his hands.

He looked around but so no one other than the single rhododendron flower blooming peacefully in a small vase.

Eugene doesn't own a phone.

Without hesitance, he immediately opened the message out of pure curiosity. The content given however, did nothing but to create more complication for the unfortunate old admiral professor.

_We need to discuss important matters. I'm here to help._

_-M_

* * *

**A/N Short and simple is what I could describe this chapter, reason being - well, I'll leave you to your own deductions at that ;3 Oh! and I've posted some "promotional posters" of the story on tumblr under the tag 'Ode to Harrison' so you should go check those out! Reviews are helpful and welcomed! (And they make me smile like an idiot) :3**


	12. An Imminent Darkness

No one expected the calm and still behaviour expressed by the glaring man when they gave the chamber a tiny peek. Chills bloomed on their skin and down their spine as they caught his eyes. Irises so light, they blended into the whites leaving only the piercing black of his pupils focusing on their stares. The men outside the barriers sneered at him.

Their own eyes focused on the man's posture, looking intensively for any sign of movement. A twitch - a flicker of hair even, but nothing.

"It's been a week already and this_ beast_ hasn't even moved a single muscle," the guardsman whispered to his partner, "Not a word either."

The younger man, most likely a student volunteering as a guard, stole a glance into the cell himself, wondering if this statue-esque creature was truly as he was described. A dark, demeaning shift of the eyes penetrated into his and he instantly jumped back to avoid the icy coldness rushing into his veins

The innocent soul had never seen a look so corrupt and hateful bearing into one menacing glower.

"Don't worry kid, he hasn't done anything since and I doubt he ever could inside this-" The fool of a guardsman tapped his knuckles hard into the cell door, enough to frighten the lad.

The boy flinched at the bold action.

"Isn't he the one who had killed a guy - a rep from somewhere, I think. You know I saw him, when he arrived. He was alive then, walking, talking...it's hard to believe he's now dead."

The guard looked down at his volunteer, opening his mouth to give a cliched word of sympathy for the child when a dead, gravelly voice hummed into their ears. Without notice, the prisoner had already moved towards the door window. Nonetheless, their reaction of extreme alarm didn't surprise the captive.

Both raised their guns at his head, one determined to shoot and one trembling in fear.

"What did you say? Speak up!" the guard provoked. The student turned to him horror-stricken, wishing he could shut the reckless mouth, but the lowly voice came again before he could do anything.

"It's been six days..."

"What?"

"You said it has been a week. Technically it has only been six days..." The words came off as viperous growl.

"S-so?" the young man dared to squeak, but was shushed by a single hand. The guardsman steadily planted himself between the two, sensing the baleful aura that suffocated them and began to defend the boy. "What of it? _Freak_."

Little did he know that his words of audacious bravado were to be his last.

The sudden screeching sound of steel tearing apart burned a hole into their eardrums and caught them off guard. They lost a moment of their attention, but it was enough for the heavy-built door to be ripped off of its frame and flung into the unnoticing guard. It collided with a tremendous force, flinging the guardsman and the student onto the wall with a great crack.

As the ringing of the impact subsided, Khan stepped out of his chamber to inspect the damage done. He didn't even bother to look at his victims before he started for the halls.

Like a passionate blue flame, his eyes began to flicker and a glint began to shine.

"I'm sorry you couldn't last your desired 'week' with me." His voice vibrated throughout the corridor in a deep contralto until it was merely a ghost of a whisper.

Fortunately for the boy, he retained his youth spared by a passing glance and the sacrifice of a dead man that suffered most of the blow.

But his life would forever be haunted by the icy, menacing glare that petrified his very being and the blood of the innocent dripping slowly down his face.

* * *

Khan passed through like a walking shadow among the pallid interiors of the Academy. Or underneath it, to be exact. The cold, stuffy air and the excessive amount of lights hung above him made the location almost too easy to affirm.

He walked without direction. His only incentive was to find the others. He knew he was the only one separated and the rest were held somewhere in a similar cell.

They feared him, Khan knew that. He knew exactly what he had done to cause their dread.

And he felt proud of it. The violence, the deaths, it empowered him, satisfying the untreated battle in his head.

Sherlock had lost.

Khan had won.

But the stubborn detective still held on by a hair, floating in the place of a conscience. He was still there, buried underneath the darkness.

All he needed was a single light.

Upon reaching the other side of the underground labyrinth, his keen ears had already sensed the quiet murmurs of familiar voices.

_"But Sherlock..."_

A spark ignited, awakening the detective.

That wasn't all he heard, however, as he picked up the shuffling of padded feet behind him and the clacking of guns against bulletproofed vests.

But Khan ignored them, his eyes fixated on the doors in front of him. He was too close to get distracted now. Using his great strength, he found the edge of the sliding doors and crushed its side with all his power. Muscles rippled along his arms to his shoulders, his strong outline pressed against the tight, black uniform making it more clear that the young detective of Baker Street was no more.

The adamantine door slid open with a protesting grunt and he stood on the entrance where the now slab of crumpled steel used to be.

In front of him was no more than a breathless look of speculation and surprise.

And there was John, eyes wide with disbelief.

_Speak of the devil and he will come._

"Sherlock..." he gasped.

The spark turned into a flame. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as he finally reunited with the rest. He looked over his doctor and almost smiled as he saw him unharmed. But his contentment didn't last. As he stepped forward, his actions were stopped short by the alarm in everyone's faces directed behind him, reflecting the trouble that awaited.

John froze.

Sherlock turned slowly and found a brigade of guns pointed right on his head.

"No movements. From all of you or we will shoot."

Sherlock panicked as the small nuzzle of the rifle was aimed at him. Yes, he panicked. In every situation he's ever been in he always had a plan. There was always time to deduce - time to be brilliant and clever, but right now, he simply didn't have the luxury. All his focus was centered on keeping his mind and to avoid unleashing his savagery. One slip could be fatal. So he was left without his intellect and wit to save him now.

Out of habit, his eyes flickered to John.

"Sherlock...what the hell-"

A shot was fired near the doctor's feet, restricting his movements. The detective's eye twitched.

"I said don't move!"

Behind him, Lestrade fumed. "Okay enough with the bloody shooting, we all know that isn't going to work for us!" The bold inspector stood up and started his way towards the armed guards, confident that his regenerative abilities won't fail him. He dropped a heavy hand on John's shoulder as he passed by and Sherlock a scowl of askance.

"Stop! I demand you to stop!" The distressed guard was emitting a strong cowardice as Lestrade continued until they faced each other with no more than a hand's length apart. The trembling guard was rather short. Short enough for Lestrade to look down in dominance.

"Get back you demon or I'll shoo-"

But instead of feeling threatened, Tobias's animosity only grew hotter.

"Then _shoot_."

He knew from his very existence that this charade was nothing but bluff. They were nothing but cuckolds compared to _his_ superiority. A spasm of ferocity began to unfurl in him and he could feel his body react without his consent. Raising a much lethal fist, Lestrade knew he was already taken over by his own beast and there was no stopping him from harming the guard.

Except for one.

Or two.

Even five.

Five pistols were simultaneously pressed against his skull as his body tensed and froze.

He could already smell the gunpowder.

"A bullet to the shoulder might not have affected your buddy over there, but don't get so cocky about five shots. Straight through your brain."

Tobias tsked. He's had far enough on their diffident threats.

"I told you, didn't I? Shoot if you have your_ fucking_ chance. _SHOOT_!"

"Greg!"

John was appalled by the man's very words. There was never a sliver of certainty that he believed the detective inspector would utter such things, but little did he know, it was truly Lestrade's own words just fed through the vulgar mouth of Tobias.

It was a plea to kill the danger that was his festering darkness.

But the trigger stayed untouched.

The apathetic guard smirked and simply dug the barrel tighter against his temple.

"I would gladly send one flying through your brain, but unfortunately that isn't mine to call right now." Tobias's brows furrowed as his eyes darted to the man. They stared at each other coldly and hatefully despite meeting only for the first and hopefully the last time.

Not another word was spoken until more footsteps came clanking in and all attention were directed towards a tall, spidery man walking in with much authority.

The unknown person had a face of no youth nor age, but the thinning grey hairs sticking out of his head gave much evidence that he was yet another old man. His eyelids drooped in a plastered gloomed expression, yet his bright eyes gave the impression of a beaming child's. He was a man full of contradictions it almost made someone amongst the Augments stifle a snort. Even his suit, dark as a black hole itself with not a speck of lint to obscure the illusion, clashed with the Academy-wall white of his dress shirt.

Unlike the professor, this man wore a frown so deep, it seemed as if gravity was at its strongest at the corner of his lips.

No one uttered a breath, except, of course, for Sherlock.

"And who do we have the honour to grace us with his presence?" The snarky detective, even at his worst, always had the urge to give a remark.

But the old man didn't have the patience and continued on without a sideways glance. " I am the head of the council of the United World Nations. I am here to give you news decided upon the other members that will declare what happens to you now. I suppose you are all curious, correct?"

Every single Augment shook with nervousness at the sound of_ "head council of the United World Nations."_ also known as the superintendent of the British representative that had died by one of their own hands. They knew they saw them as a threat, and whatever the outcome they had determined for them, it wasn't going to be a good one.

John Watson looked over to Sherlock once again with a heavy heart. He couldn't save the detective. He couldn't keep his word. Whatever the circumstances, there was no way he would ever see that dick of a sociopath ever again.

They could imagine the words streaming out of the man's mouth already.

_'Exile'_

_'Torture'_

_'Imprisonment'_

They would just be left to rot because of one unexpected 'mistake'.

"We would like you all to participate on our first major expedition to the newly contacted planet of Vulcan." The old man heaved a sigh as if it was just old news.

But everyone thought differently. The sulking doctor whipped his head up in bafflement. "What?"

"Come again?"

The whole room seemed to be struck by lightning; all nervousness turned into pure disconcertment.

"You will partake in a voyage to explore the desolate parts of-"

"Um, excuse me, but why the _hell_ are you asking _us_?" Lestrade interrupted, sharing the same confusion as all the others. The head of the council raised a thin eyebrow like the question came as much surprise.

"I don't understand, this is a great honour to be bestowed with, this is an accomplishment surpassing the voyage to the moon. You should be blessed."

Lestrade looked to John. John looked back and turned to Sherlock who eyed the placid man distastefully.

"But why _us_?" Lestrade began to heat up but found enough patience to speak with clenched teeth. He needed an answer. It was as if they've completely forgotten the murder!

"My dear man," he shifted, "you're being is the most compatible for this very journey! Your strength, your powers, your intellect - its perfect for the unknown encounters you might face whatever roams in those alien lands. We understand your bafflement, but think of it as making use of your capabilities. Every nation had agreed unanimously. All of you will be part of your very own crew set for course in a matter of time. This is a privilege, young man. Don't question it any more."

"But-"

The superintendent tried for a smile which left even the innocent guards shivering in repugnance, and turned away sharply, leaving the room before the sentence could even be finished.

His short, blunt and unexpected visit had caused quite a stir amongst the Augments.

As he walked away, his eyes glinted with heavy mischief.

The Vulcan Expedition departs in one week.

* * *

**A/N Sorry for the sporadic updates, I'm still trying to finish up some assignments T-T But no fret! I've got a chock full of notes for the story on my journal so I won't go on a writer's block on you guys (hopefully ヽ（゜ロ゜；）ノ ****) **

**Important question though! Do you guys want to extend the story line to the present time of Into Darkness? Bringing in some Spock, Kirk, and Marcus? Let me know! Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	13. Privilege

Engines roared and machines blared on without the consent of highly sensitive ears that occupied the "garage".

John winced and tried to ignore the ringing that reached his head as another piercing noise emitted from god knows where. Truthfully, he'd rather be back in that underground holding room than this mess right now, but that just wasn't going to happen.

They should be happy. _"It's a privilege"._

But John had to agree to what Lestrade had said. _Why them? Why now?_

_And why this?_

Centered inside Starfleet's holding room was a sight very much spectacular to see. A grand ship. The vessel to their destination. A DY-100 class ship.

_SS Botany Bay._

The astounding awe received from the Augments was immense, and they thought the laboratory back at London was ship itself was brought in into the bay, taking up almost half of the island Headquarters was stationed in. Even the whole city of San Francisco woke up to the roaring sound of a spaceship docking before it was swallowed whole by the ocean floor; down to Starfleet's very own garage.

The Augments were then escorted out of their cell to see the ship they were going to use for the launch to Vulcan only a mere few hours away. Upon descending down to the underground room, Sherlock couldn't help but speculate the rather surprising announcement.

Only little information was given to them. The ship itself was a mystery, an engineer told them, found as a prototype Starfleet was working on for interplanetary travel, one of the very first produced. It's was originally planned to take man to Mars, but as word of the Vulcan Expedition was revealed, the ship was sent off to its benefactor from the United Kingdom branch to be completed then sent back to San Francisco, ready for boarding.

This raised much suspicion to Sherlock. _There has got to be more preparation than this._ He looked over to John and saw the unmistakable crease between his brows. John knew, and this made the detective feel a little bit more at ease. _Of course John knew. He's brilliant._

But Sherlock's mind was still numbed from the pain of the inner conflict that battled on in his head. He believed from the very bottom of his being that this was all his doing. He had threatened the very lives of the people he had grown to care about.

John, Lestrade.

All because he couldn't control himself.

Sherlock Holmes's greatest downfall.

_"Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."_

He himself had brought his own words to life.

The unruly guard who had pointed his gun to Lestrade's head back at the cell jerked Sherlock forward to catch up to the group as they were guided around the ship. It took every ounce of control just to avoid releasing his anger upon the man, but Sherlock managed, even though the blood from his nails digging into the the skin of his palms began to drip endlessly onto his own shoes.

And surprisingly, he even kept his mouth shut.

The detective couldn't risk another fight, so he did what he was told.

The Augments felt like they had just walked around the earth as they were guided around the ship. It's vast size was adjusted to fit a hundred people, originally only 85. It wasn't like anything they have ever seen before. The ship's interior, however, reminded them of Starfleet's laboratory combined with the insides of a car. A jumbled mess of machinery and buttons, yet oddly organized.

"This ship," John started as they continued on, "you said it had a benefactor-who was its benefactor?" He looked sternly at the engineers eyes, holding the gaze. Everyone needed answers and John had stepped up to reel them in. Whoever this man was, he sure had a lot of determination to get this prototype ship ready to fly in such a short time just to send them to Vulcan.

"Um, no one really knows. All I know is that one day the rest of the crew and I were polishing off just barely the base of this thing when a call came in from the UK nation. Said they needed a ship done and sent in right away. Plans were sent in along with it too and right after a painful period of time, immediately shipped here. A bit of alterations here and there, but we managed to get it done, surprisingly." The engineer gave a small grin of exhausted pride in his work.

John speculated the story with unease. Anything with the United World Nations involved spelled trouble for them. He knew that they saw them as a threat. They wouldn't risk exposing them to the world.

"But you know what?" The engineer turned, "This is a huge privilege. You lucky bastards..." he chuckled wholeheartedly which left the doctor to ponder at his words.

_'A privilege.'_

"Is it though." John whispered to himself.

It took no less than an hour for the tour, consisting of the most enthusiastic engineer gladly informing them of the ship's every knook and cranny. Everything was covered, from the decks to the systems in which the man was so eager to boast. Unfortunately for him, the Augments had already known everything right from the very beginning. They were trained and schooled in Starfleet's esteemed Academy with the courses of Robotics, Astrophysics, Turn-of-the-Millenium Technology, and many more; they just let him talk just to see how long he can go until he notices.

Unfortunately for _them_, he never did.

Once they had finally rounded and arrived back at the entrance, the Augments learned nothing new or cleared up any of the confusion swarming in their heads. It was a basic ship that had leapt right out of their textbooks provided by the UK branch in favor of sending the Augments to the new world of Vulcan. That was all they knew.

"Alright if you could all equip and ready yourselves, it won't be long until we board you and ready to launch this beauty!"

The Augments whipped around; stunned at the man's words.

"Woah woah woah, just like that?" Lestrade sputtered, absolutely boggled.

"Yeah."

"Uh, mate? What do you mean we're launching _now_?"

"I thought you already got word that today-"

Lestrade gave an annoyed grunt for the man's ignorance.

"Well yes, but I expected this tour of yours to be at least more informative on the matter! We don't even know what to expect out there i_n space_, what to do when we descend, who our captains are-!"

"You don't."

A wave of startlement washed over the group.

"What?"

"Oh but you don't have a captain. You're your own crew. I thought I've already established that hmm..."

That was the last straw. Lestrade fumed with the ignorance and began to stomp his way towards the pondering engineer. Luckily for him, John was at hand to hold him back with a death grip on the shoulder. "Greg, calm yourself! Nows not the time-hell there shouldn't even_ be_ a time!" The pissed off inspector simply obeyed. John was right. He hated it when he lost his sense of control. It was too full of red anger.

Lestrade breathed. releasing the tension.

Continuing Lestrade's questions, John decided to take over his place. "What do you mean no captain?"

Still as air headed to the situation, the engineer beamed as if he was explaining the solar system to a bunch of toddlers. "It's your voyage isn't it? They've chosen you Augments to be the first to visit unknown Vulcan territory-it'd be insane if we just send off one of our own! I mean you're strong, regenerable, can possibly survive better than a _human_..."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing and neither did everyone else. The doctor's grip loosened and slid off Lestrade's arm. The engineer finally stepped back a bit, regretting the moment he let his mouth babble on like that.

John stepped forward. "So you mean this is just another one of your fucking experiments then? Are we just lab monkeys to you? Because we're not _human_?"

But before he could go any further with his growing outburst, a familiar sight had appeared from behind the idiot engineer.

_A familiar smile._

"Oh Mr. Harrison don't say that. I'm sure you already have much knowledge of the mechanics of interstellar travel and the designs of vessels and weapons in your finger than anybody else for the job does. Those courses were required weren't they? We have much faith in you."

A soft rustle of a white lab coat had caught their attention. Stepping into the ship was the indisputable figure of the man who had started it all. The doctor gaped at his surprise visit and had completely forgotten all about his ranting.

"Professor Eugene."

The Augments stared at the admiral professor as if he was a dead man brought to life, their eyes fixated on the protectively wrapped arm of his as he cupped it to his side, avoiding the people who stood his way. But honestly, John was more worried than surprised. His eyes darted to Sherlock's immediately but was met with a dark figure of stiff stoicness. He shook his head and looked back once more. The detective himself was oddly calm about the professor's appearance. John had expected him to be at least a bit shocked-he nearly took off the man's arm for god's sake! But all Sherlock did was stand with his assigned overseer, watching the event with storming eyes.

The doctor began his way towards his detective but all of a sudden, his poor abused shoulder started to release an enormous amount of pain, enough the make him hiss and Sherlock raise his head in sudden urgency.

The professor had laid a fragile hand on Harrison's shoulder, unaware of the strange occurrence that happened when they made contact. John looked at his sympathetic eyes with bafflement.

"Harrison, I...I'm so sorry for my brash action back then-I...I wasn't thinking." The old man attempted for an apologetic smile but only ended up with his strange wrinkled grin. John tried to shrug off the now heavy hand as politely as he could, but the pain soon turned into a burning. He stepped back abruptly, bumping into Lestrade who, upon seeing John's reaction to the touch, was reminded by the gunshot and the panic that occurred that day and glared at the professor.

But things got even stranger for the doctor. Like the unsuspected pain that came with the contact, the feeling in his shoulder had subsided into a sudden disappearance as the hand left him. Gone, like a flick of a light switch.

"John," his keen ears had picked up the whisper of his name and had tracked the voice instantly to its person. Sherlock still kept his place a few feet away from him, but it was enough to hear a murmur. "Are you alright? What happened?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but was caught off by the never ending sentences that poured out the professor's mouth. "I'm very sorry-how rude of me for interrupting! You must be curious as to what I'm possibly doing here aren't you?"

"We're all curious about a lot of things professor," John stepped back up again, "but your's could be a start."

Eugene looked around at the shared expressions before him, then his eyes directed solely to Khan's. The Augment stared at him with the utmost resentment hidden behind a facade. He however, despite the actions cruelly done to him, gave him a look of remorse. The professor's morality was blinded by his dedication for his creations, thus making his own bitterness basically nonexistent.

His robe fluttered once again as he paced the room. "It's quite simple, actually," his stare still locked onto Khan's, "I'll be joining you for your voyage." Sherlock snapped out of his stupor in a blink; the news completely taking him back. Eugene noticed.

"What's wrong, Khan? I thought you were supposed to be the great deducing detective who could figure out a person's breakfast with just a glance. Why so surprised? I thought I've made my entrance clear enough for you."

"Please professor, just...don't." John held him back and sighed. He was beginning to see the denseness in everyone's words. _People don't seem to think before they speak these days._

"Ahem. As I was saying, I've been granted permission to board with you as you travel to Vulcan."

"Yes, but _why_?" Lestrade interrupted. Just as John was annoyed with people's unthoughtfulness, he had enough with the indirectness of every conversation.

"Why? Well this is my research of course! My research put into action-into actual use. And i'm not missing any of that."

"That man just said that we have a better chance of survival than regular people. You on the other hand, are not an Augment. What if you die-?"

"If I die, then I die." Eugene's composure had changed. No longer did he hold as the unstable professor. His stern words and determining glare indicated the return of the admiral.

But something else was there clouding his eyes. A sort of hidden sadness; a secret. A truth. But of course, it flickered out before anyone, even the eyeful detective, could notice.

"Professor-"

"Alright then. Suit up. I want you all boarded before the hour." Eugene walked inside the ship with authority as the others were escorted to their uniforms. 'Oh and one other thing you might want to keep in your thoughts, inspector,

this is a privilege. You'll be thankful for this when the time arrives."

* * *

Admiral Professor Eugene was seated on the command chair of Botany Bay's bridge. Posture confident and erect, he felt as if he was back in control. The Augments around him shuffled about to their assigned positions, displaying their newly acquired uniforms. There wasn't really much difference compared to their regular wear, but the gear itself was supposedly designed specifically to fit their build.

A marker beeped above them and the face of the lone engineer appeared where the main windows were. His way too optimistic smile stretched across the whole screen. "Okay then, just a few more moments before you're ready to launch. Remember that this ship had been modified for autopilot so your destination has already been set and need little to no self control. Right up front the Captain's chair we have the control docks. A few of you who are confident in your navigation skills will be required to switch to manual control if needed to avoid meteors, floating debris, or just anything that might interfere with the main course. Well, I've got to step out before I get fried. I wish you all a safe journey, Starfleet."

With a last, friendly salute, the engineer had blinked out of screen and was replaced by the view of the city shining in the night.

Out waiting in the entrance of the ship was Sherlock, the last one to board. As his escorts let him enter the ship alone, the first sight he saw near the ship's massive entryway was none other than his loyal doctor, standing in a soldier's stance with a warm smile on his face. He couldn't help but sigh in relief.

Out of pure camaraderie and solace, John Watson had come up to the tall detective had wrapped his arms around him in a strong embrace. "It's good to have you back, Sherlock." the doctor whispered. After the daunting event of the frightening way Sherlock had turned into and the weeks spent apart constantly worrying if he was going to be okay, John at least, even though still placed in an unknown predicament, could be at ease by finally being able to be with his best friend once again.

And Sherlock himself, of course, was very surprised. Not entirely because of John's action, but the way it had affected him. Sherlock very much knew himself how lonely he had always been throughout his life as a self-declared sociopath, choosing only a select few into his life but very rarely have they been what John was to him. He was neither a source of boredom-release as Lestrade was nor a mother figure that Mrs. Hudson had dutifully filled.

John Watson had became his friend. One who's so different from him yet they paired together quite perfectly that those few weeks of isolation had led him to miss the doctor's scolding glares and pouts whenever he simply acted like himself.

The usually unsociable Sherlock Holmes loosened underneath the doctor's embrace and had kindly returned the act, letting his arms wrap around the short blogger and had subconsciously rested his chin on top of his sandy head.

John Watson is his friend. His very best man, and he swore he would do anything to protect him and the others to the very best of his ability,

Because Sherlock knew somehow in someway, this voyage wouldn't turn out as expected.

The nuclear powered engines began to blare as the ship began to rise. Out in the distance, the city of San Francisco and the population of Starfleet Academy watched in awe as _SS Botany Bay_ was lifted right from under the sea and into the stars.

Many people smiled and watched with complete admiration as they glanced into the future of the world's technology provided by the genius of the Starfleet Organization. They knew their world would never be the same ever again.

But that of course, can be interpreted into many different meanings.

* * *

"Sir, Botany Bay had just lifted off and are now heading in full course."

"Good. No trouble I suppose?"

"Ah, almost sir, quite honestly, but coming from our status right now, all's well."

"That's excellent. Superb work soldier."

"What now sir?"

"Hmmm...make sure the ships are ready for command once they enter the Alpha Quadrant."

"Yes sir."

"Oh and do clean out that laboratory soon. We'll need to dispose of-"

A frantic voice on another line beeped desperately for attention. An urgent message from the London Starfleet branch.

"Sir! We have a major problem!"

The man in charge rose from his chair as dread started to fill his every nerve. _No. Nothing could go wrong now._

"Speak!"

The exasperated couldn't find it in him to speak clearly.

"The laboratory! The cryo pods! They've gone missing! All one hundred of them-all gone! Sir we've been hijacked!"

* * *

The ship continued its course smoothly through clear space. Manual control, as informed, really wasn't needed and so the Augments were left just gazing out into the universe. Everyone was dazzled as they experienced the vast emptiness of space. Even Sherlock Holmes himself couldn't help but be in awe. To be unsurprised would be an inhuman reaction.

They were actually in space! Never in their common lives would they have ever guessed that one day they would become superhuman and be able to be one of the very first to voyage into deep space. It was simply breathtaking.

Eugene occupied the captain's chair, monitoring every single person on board. Even as a scientist, a professor, and a natural born inquisitive child, he had no time at all to marvel the galaxy along with the Augments. Fingers jittered against the chair and his knees began to bob up and down in gut wrenching anticipation.

Something was coming, and only the professor knew.

He turned his wrist to check his watch. Time seemed to tick slower for Eugene.

"What's our status?" He called over to the monitor board in which Christopher managed the radar. He was surprised by how fast they've already traveled with the help of the booster rockets.

"We're halfway through reaching the Alpha Quadrant, professor. According to our distance traveled so far, we can reach Vulcan in another two days or so by warp speed."

Eugene gave a quick nod of approval, trying to calm his frantic mind. "Two days," he whispered to himself a he watched the second hand of his watch tick by like light years. "It's alright. We have all the time in the world..."

It was then that the small face of the clock fastened on his wrist began to flicker a distress signal.

* * *

John and Sherlock were stationed on the ship's Ops Station. They by far had been entrusted to manage the most crucial functions of the ship; overseeing internal system controls, communications and sensors, but deep space was a still and silent area of the universe. Nothing came up on any of the sensors, only the soft beeping lulling them into sleep.

"I wonder what's happened to my blog." John yawned as he looked over the monitors for the fifth time. Although nothing seems to be happening, the responsible doctor always had to check. Sherlock, however, seemed to feel more at ease in the solitude of space. The stars absolutely fascinated him, and deep inside, deep, deep, _deep_ inside, he regretted not remembering a thing or two about the solar system.

Watson looked over the quiet man and kicked the back of the chair the detective was lounging on. "Oi, now's not the time to sleep, Sherlock."

"Oh leave me be, I'm resting."

John rolled his eyes. "Didn't you just hear me? Oh for god's sake..."

But the feigned annoyance towards the Sherlock was plainly obvious as John relieved a small smile. He was glad. The detective was slowly transitioning more to his normal self. This was John's job-his promise to save the detective as he had saved him. Maybe, just once, all will go well.

The doctor returned to his duty and swiveled in his chair back and forth through the wall of monitors on the dashboard, seeing only empty space before him. But as he began to finish rounding the sensors, a soft beep began to blink in one of the many radars.

John searched.

Sherlock lifted his head up at the sign of something finally happening.

"Alien ship? Enemies approaching? Give me the news, John, I'm terribly bored."

"Oh shut it, it's probably nothing more than debris." But John couldn't help but choke on his own words as he located the beeping monitor. It was far bigger than a mere rock floating in space, but rather the size of Botany Bay itself! He was completely at lost for words.

As he zoomed in on the unidentified object, John's eyes couldn't believe what he saw: a DY-100 class ship. The same exact model as their own.

Without hesitation, the doctor went on full on command mode. Grabbing the intercom beside him, he then began to demand direct communication with the professor.

Sherlock sat up in response to John's sudden behaviour and suddenly peered over the radars. His reaction mimicked John's as soon as they found the source of the panic.

A growing number of ships began to surround their perimeter and soon began to appear on every sensor on the dash. The detective was astonished. "What the hell-"

"Admiral! Listen, it's Harrison! we've just sighted a class ship heading our way! I-I don't understand! How can we possibly encounter a ship in deep space! Didn't we just warp-?'

"John!"

The confused doctor turned the find Sherlock completely surrounded by the numerous flashing lights of the radars.

"Oh my god..."

"Harrison? Harrison! Are you listening?" The voice of the professor blared from the other side, snapping John out of his stupor. "Look, get to the bridge with Khan immediately! Inform anyone you see on the way-YOU HAVE TO GET HERE NOW!"

Not a second was wasted for John and Sherlock to come running down the ship's long hallways. They were met with Augments from different sectors and began following each other to the main bridge, the blare of the security alarm flashing above them with the Admiral's urgent voice booming through the walls.

It was a complete and unexpected chaos.

The unknown ships were gaining closer.

Eugene stood up from the captain's chair to face his confused Augments and grasped the watch on his hand. The tiny clock was no longer visible, but instead buzzed with static, imitating a small screen.

Eugene had just got word from a source about the oncoming ships just a mere moment away from John's call.

"What's going on?"

"What are ships doing here?"

"We must be light years away from any sign of civilization-how did we manage to intercept?"

"Wait! Maybe it's one of ours!"

Eugene's eyes flashed with concern. _No. That's not possible, we need more time._

"It is a Starfleet ship." the admiral blurted, which had caused a reaction of relief from most of the crew. Eugene tsked.

"If it's ours then why are we panicking? Shouldn't we be contacting them by now?"

"NO!" Silence waved over the crowd. Sherlock's eyes began to darken with suspicion by the admiral's outburst. He knew he couldn't be trusted. Soon, the threatening voice of Khan began to loom its way into Eugene's ears. "What is going on here, _admiral_. Talk."

Eyes bore into the professor, haunting him and he had no choice but to comply. They had to know. _It's the only way they can be saved._

"This voyage was all lie." he began, "The United World Nations...they didn't decide this. They decided for your execution. Every single one of you. A threat. That's what you are to them. You were supposed to die weeks ago, but a compromise was held and here you are. This ship is to be destroyed once we've reached the Alpha Quadrant-far enough for your bodies to drift in space without any evidence. That was your execution."

A fear rose amongst the Augments. John pursed his lips. He knew something was wrong, he just refused to believe it. For once he wanted to believe everything would turn out okay for them. Apparently it was too good to be true.

"But word of this plan had reached my knowing and I had collaborated with a source to help you survive. that's the real reason I'm here. Everything was going so smoothly but we weren't supposed to reach the Quadrant yet. Those ships shouldn't be here already."

"Why did you decide to save us?" Khan roared, ignoring the admiral's words and began to approach him, shoving off the many hands that held him back. Within moments, the two were once again face to face.

Khan felt his anger boil and for once, Sherlock did not pull back. He let the searing rage melt into his brain. This man had once again put everyone in danger-he had kept the truth from them and now he confess to wanting to save them? He had enough of Admiral Professor Eugene.

"WHY?" he spat as Eugene looked up from below him. Khan had expected to see the trembling form of the old man squirming once again underneath his power, but now, all he looked at was a threatening stare directed back to him. Eugene stood, facing Khan directly now and glowered.

"Why? Why do you think! You are _my_ creations-_my_ dedication. I'm not going to let people who have no idea how long I've spent to see my research come to life decide that they would just take it away from me. This is my decision, Khan. I don't even let what you've done to me affect my morality. To me, you all are my_ family_, and there's no way in hell I would let you disappear forever.

Sherlock, baffled by the professor, stepped back to let him through. The Augments watched him with sympathetic eyes as he began to walk towards a slab of wall.

Lestrade, also agaped, began to question his strange action. But before he could even utter a word, the thick wall slid open to reveal a completely different part of the ship and the other's couldn't help but lose their breath.

Inside the room held one hundred cryo pods ready for use.

"Disruptions or not, I am not letting this plan go. These pods are the same one's you've used when you were tested on and are the only one's made. Starfleet had specifically designed these cryo pods for the Eugenics project, making them the only one cryo chambers created."

All of a sudden, a deep and terrifying boom echoed through the walls of the ship, making the crew sway to one side in synchrony. Out the windows, the faint dot of an oncoming ship began to near them, already close enough in firing range. Admiral Eugene's eyes widened in sheer panic. "We don't have time," he stuttered, as he tried desperately to grab the attention of the crew. "We need you all in those pods NOW! It's the only way you will be saved!"

"But-" Another crash jolted them once more and all questions and hesitations were soon shoved down their throat.

"Look, there's no time for explanation! The plan can still go as it is! These cryo pods can suspend you in sleep for a long time. What I've been told is to have you stored into these pods and warp Botany Bay into a different location while I lead a duplicate ship to veer the other ships away."

"So you're saying we'll be adrift in unknown space until we wake up?!"

"It's the only way you can survive without getting noticed! There's a possibility you will wake up ina different time-a better time, when your kind can finally be accepted. Please just listen! I need you to live on!"

Another boom had rocked the ship violently.

People began to squeezed themselves into the room with Eugene instructing them on what to do inside the pods, but their situations grew more difficult as the ships grew closer and the destruction more intense. The professor struggled as he assisted. There was only so much an old man can do with only one available arm. John, seeing the difficulty Eugene faced, soon rushed by the professor's side and began helping the other Augments himself.

"Harrison get into your pod! It's dangerous- you need to contain yourself right now!"

But John simply ignored. His loyalty was far greater than his will to survive. Their world is crumbling to an end, and he was determined to save the others he thought were more deserving to live.

"JOHN!" Amongst the pillars of pods around him, he spotted Sherlock making his way towards him. But before he could face the detective, he needed to place his last Augment into the pod.

He couldn't believe he was doing this.

To John, this felt like the all too familiar scene of burying a comrade.

"You better get into a pod now mate, I swear I'll kill you myself if I wake up and I find you missing." The doctor, despite the chaos, had the heart to smile dearly.

"Sure thing, Greg. I'll be there. We all will. I promise."

Lestrade grinned back as his eyes began to droop, the drug already seeping into his system. "I'm keeping you up...with that...promise...of...yours..."

John clicked the doors close and watched as the synthetic air began to frost the window that revealed Lestrade's solemn face.

Sherlock then appeared beside him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. John found it a bit surprising that, unlike with the professor's touch, Sherlock's hand didn't emmett pain, but rather, warmth. He stared up at the tall detective and nodded.

"KHAN! HARRISON!" Eugene ran towards the remaining two Augments still not in a pod. The admiral snarled in annoyance. To him, these two were special. They were the one's that needed to survive.

"Get into a pod!" he screamed as his frail body was knocked into the ground by another critical hit. Sherlock could already hear one of the engines collapsing. He knew there wasn't much time.

Grabbing John's hand in his, the two dashed through the maze of chambers all clustered into one room to search for the remaining pods. The bridge was beginning to deteriorate; the evidence clear by the unruly rocking of the ship. Sherlock gripped his doctor's hand tighter.

Upon finding the last two pods, he had shoved John into the chamber as quickly as possible, apologizing now and then for his clumsy fingers as they shook against the buttons.

The great Sherlock Holmes was frenzied.

"Sherlock." John mumbled, as he watched the man fumble. "Sherlock it's going to be okay."

"I know, but you see doctor Watson, everything will be okay once I know_ you_ are safe." The two smiled at each other somberly. Sleep began to force itself into John's consciousness as the pod began its cryonization. "You're a dick, you know that?" he was able to sputter out as every muscle began to grow numb.

"And why so?"

"Because you treat me as if I'm worth saving..."

Sherlock was surprisingly taken back by John's slurred words. He didn't understand the man's thoughts entirely. How could he possibly think that way?

But before the drug overtook John, Sherlock peered into his lashes and looked at him with the utmost sincerity. "John, you told me once, didn't you? Friends protect people. I'm protecting you because _you_ are my best man and to me, that is worth everything."

Sherlock's hands were hesitant to close the door and to shut John away but he knew it was for his safety. His promise.

"Khan," The admiral waited behind him, trying his best to keep a steady feet as the chaos ensued. But Sherlock looked out the window and found the enemy ship already at full view, and a shadow of doubt began to cast over his head. Never in his life had he so badly wanted to win this time. To save lives once again. But now he felt it in his bones that they had little chance.

Without a word, he began to follow Eugene to his own pod. "Admiral," he murmured, as the old man began to strap him in, "Are you sure they will all come out of this alive? Give me your word...please."

But Eugene couldn't bear to to say anything. He was in no position to emmitt confidence right now. Not when he too shook underneath uncertainty.

The door began to close on Sherlock without a word.

_They won't make it._

But all of a sudden, familiar voice echoed behind the glass.

"I give you _my_ word, Sherlock. All I need now is _your_ reliance to help me keep it."

He knew that voice. He knew it all too well.

Sherlock couldn't believe it.

No, it must be a hallucination!

This doesn't make sense!

Appearing into his vision, a man had stepped casually behind from the professor that had obstructed his view and leaned closer into the beeping pod. His whole appearance felt out of place from the mad destruction behind him, the umbrella still twirling around his fingers.

_It can't be him._

Sherlock, despite the invading weakness that began to spread, had the strength to lift his hand up against the glass.

"That can't be you," he started chanting. "That can't be you, oh god what are you doing here?!"

The banging of the glass only grew louder as the man before him simply smiled.

"It's good to see you once more, my dear little brother. "

* * *

**A/N Uhh...surprise! my gift to you, A super long chapter that was originally supposed to be three hurray! I don't know, honestly, it was a bit difficult having to proofread this since I wrote the whole thing in a span of two and half days and you know how writing changes and the Star Trek research blahblahblah THIS WAS SO HARD *creys* Anyways, thank to those who had given me feedback concerning the timeline of the story, it helped very much! Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter andthecliffhangercoughcough Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	14. The Grit on the Lens

_"Emotions._

_The grit on the lens, _

_The fly in the ointment."_

* * *

The destruction happening inside the doomed ship was chaotic. Blasts from the outside grew stronger as the enemy ships drew nearer. Shards of glass exploded into dust, the ground rattled violently and a screeching noise of steel bending and collapsing haunted the ears of those who were unfortunate enough to hear. It was only a matter of time before the great vessel would finally collapse.

But the air inside the cryo pod was still. Silent. Unbearably numb. From inside the pod, one could see the destruction moving noiselessly as if it was in slow motion.

The persons in their own respective situation however, contradicted each other.

Sherlock's banging turned into desperate attempts to break the incredibly strong glass of his own chamber. His thoughts went wild. A jumbled mix of emotions began to buzz in his head like bees, swarming around his precious mind palace and clouding all rationality. The drug that swam in his veins acted like its stingers, weakening his strength and contained his mind from exploding as he watched, angry and confused, at the man before him.

"MYCROFT!"

The elder Holmes continued to stare with complete stoicness at his raging brother as if he was simply scolding him for raising his voice. Debris roamed around his polished suit and the ground he stood on wobbled and cracked, yet he still maintained his proper posture. It seemed as if nothing fazed the man. Nothing at all.

And then he gave a curt nod which did nothing more than enrage Sherlock's temper to the boiling point.

"Brother-"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?-ANSWER ME! _ANSWER ME_!"

"Please Sherlock, haven't I already made it absolutely clear for you? Surely your deducing abilities haven't completely left you as you underwent change. Oh forgive me for forgetting, its been quite a while since we've seen each other correct? Hello."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft with the utmost of annoyance, but the elder ignored, walking forwards without obstacle until they were no more than an arms length apart. Mycroft stared back with dull eyes that competed with his brother's and lifted a single hand and placed it against the chamber's glass.

"Hello, Sherlock."

But the drug that contained him can only do so much against the strong will of emotions that littered his mind like confetti. Sherlock, upon seeing the hand that was placed against his own fists, struck the barrier with all his available strength and watched the glass crack, forming a weblike pattern that blossomed against his brother's palm.

Mycroft couldn't help but flinch. Once removing his hand that had obstructed the view of Sherlock's face, he was met with eyes he had never seen before.

"_Answer. Me_."

Without warning, his chest once again hammered with that odd fluttering pain. The discomfort chilled his very bones and paralyzed his every vein for the slightest second until he decided to ignore the strange feeling once again. Mycroft scoffed and glared back without fear.

Attentive eyes examined Sherlock to the very pore, watching every movement and every flicker of those dark pupils that bore down onto his. He searched for the slightest indication of humanity in those clouded orbs, but Mycroft already knew it was a waste of time.

This wasn't Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes is dead.

He knew because that was his brother. All his life he had seen the younger go through many experiences in childhood. He had seen his happiness, his griefs, and even the rarest of admiration and love gleam in those bright and brilliant eyes.

But not like this. Never like this. These held the weight of so much despair and pain. So much anger and resentment, yet they were cold and lifeless as a dead man's eyes.

Even though they shared the same insensitive facade, he knew Sherlock wasn't heartless.

And this wasn't him.

"You really don't have any idea, don't you?" Mycroft sighed. "Well, you know what people say about the effects of being an experimental lab rat. It really clouds your senses." Mycroft smirked at his attempt at dry humour but found no response at all. An uncanny silence replaced the usual sarcastic retort the Holmes boys always threw at each other every time they dared to open their mouths. Looking back with all seriousness now, Mycroft returned with the slightest of sadness gleaming in his eyes.

"This is all my doing, Sherlock." he whispered, gripping the polished wooden handle of his beloved umbrella as he did so.

"What?"

"I thought I had made it clear for you. Haven't you noticed the sudden and questionable change in the Union's decision for execution? Did you really think they wanted you to represent humanity as you claim the 'privilege' of being Starfleet's voyagers? Honestly brother, who else have relations with the Augments and has a rank high enough to be seated amongst the nation's representatives while they discussed your death? I'm surprised and a little bit disappointed in you."

As Mycroft went on, Sherlock felt himself lose breath. Upon hearing Mycroft's words, his eyes would've been wide open with realization, but instead they drooped heavily down, pulling his lids to a close. The anastasiac fluids that coursed through his bloodstream began to take dire effect.

No.

Sherlock fought with the strongest of his ability.

Not now, he needed answers! He needed to save Mycroft!

"Mycroft...Get out...The ship...!"

But Mycroft continued to ignore his brother's pleas.

"This ship Sherlock, do you like it? _Botany Bay_. There's another hint that you've missed. Remember that memory? Or have you deleted it from your head a long time ago? You were little back then when we visited Australia-dreadfully happy too if I remember. _Botany Bay_. Have you figured it out yet?"

Sherlock's mind burst into a cacophony of forgotten memories. It was as if the very bin in his brain used to keep all his deleted contents was spilled over, releasing, thus overflowing.

_Botany Bay_. Yes, he remembered it now. The sun, the sand, and the ports. It was another typical happy family memory, one he had decided long ago to push out to make room for more necessary and important information. And then it struck him.

"You..!"

Mycroft gave a sly smirk. "Yes. I am this ship's benefactor. This was the best I could do to avoid your immediate execution. Your admiral and I shared the same goal so I partnered with him to save all of you. Tell me Sherlock, why do you think they didn't just rig the whole ship with explosives and have you blown up immediately instead of sending other ships to manually destroy it themselves? Why go through all that trouble?"

Mycroft waited for an answer, seemingly amused by his own cunning mind but of course, it didn't take Sherlock long to figure out why.

_"Plans were sent in along with it too and right after a painful period of time, immediately shipped here. A bit of alterations here and there, but we managed to get it done, surprisingly."_

"You altered the plans...you sabotaged your own superiors."

"I had to. If it meant saving you. The plan is that once those ships arrive to attack, _Botany Bay_ will be warped to a different location while I distract the others with a decoy. Once the ship is destroyed, they will have to believe that they had done their job smoothly and declare your execution successful. They won't search for you and the others any more. No more threats. The universe is vast, Sherlock. Although it might be-no, it will be a long time till you wake, you'll be safe."

Upon hearing those very words come out of his brother's mouth with such sincerity, Sherlock himself couldn't believe that Mycroft Holmes stood before him. The Ice Man. The cold brother.

"But you'll be inside that ship...don't tell me you're going to use your own life! Mycroft you'll die!"

No. Sherlock was convinced that he wasn't real. This wasn't Mycroft. He would never act this way! After years of going their separate ways, the Holmes boys' relationship grew far apart until they were nothing but two people sharing the same memories.

No. Absolutely not.

Mycroft wouldn't do this.

Mycroft wouldn't sacrifice his own life like this. He was much too clever-much too cold.

Somewhere among the destruction of his mind, another deleted memory began to unfold, presenting itself to Sherlock once more:

_The train whizzed past me and blew at my curls as the force of the air collided with my hair. I couldn't help but giggle. It was childish and inappropriate, but it came out of impulse. I felt the hand wrapped around mine squeeze softly. Looking up, I can see the plump face of Mycroft look down at me...and smiled._

Sherlock could feel it. The ache pounding in his heart. It was unbearable.

"Why?" he was able to slur out as the coldness began to seep in. He knew he couldn't hold on much longer, but there was absolutely no way he would let his brother continue on with his delirious plan. "Mycroft...why?"

Mycroft turned slowly, a frown plastered on his face. For some reason, he felt a strong annoyance towards his brother's ignorance, but he was able to remind himself that he was the one who chose to keep everything a secret. There was no reason to keep it all from Sherlock now. Mycroft had to say it. He deserved to know, especially when they no longer hold a future together.

"Why? Isn't ironic that you are the one questioning things instead of answering them now, Sherlock? Why, how, what. I'll tell you, but it might be out of character for me to do so."

He faced Sherlock once more, but this time, instead of staring at him with the same superior eyes, he gave his brother a look they haven't shared since childhood.

And it pained Sherlock.

"Why do you think I keep constant watch over you Sherlock? Why should I, with my vast control over a whole nation and carrying a large weight of responsibilities on my own shoulders, dedicate a part of my life into protecting you every single day? I chose to keep watch over you. I hire the best men to send me news that you are still alive and breathing and I would push national cases onto your hands just so I can talk and meet with you once again. You see it as a nuisance, I see it as my own way of caring for you."

The shellshocked Augment watched Mycroft with wide eyes and remembered the constant realizations of strange people watching him and cameras following him everywhere he turned. He knew it was Mycroft's doing. What he thought, however, was that it was only done for the sake of keeping him from disrupting London's 'peace'.

But it still didn't make sense. This still didn't connect with the Mycroft Holmes he knew.

"You said caring...was not an advantage...Why did you choose to utter those words when you yourself are a hypocrite?"

"I said those words to protect you, brother. Emotional attachments will only drag you down. Heartaches will do you no good. I'm sorry I had raised you to be so cold. In all honesty, I haven't the slightest of clue on how to take care of you when you were just a child. The only way I knew how was to mold you into my own form: Uncaring and distant. Alone was what protected us, but I've never been so wrong."

A screeching shot was heard on the other side of the ship. Out the windows, the tiny dot of the enemy craft was now a recognizable sight at a dangerously close distance. Mycroft leaned against Sherlock's pod as another one racked the deck.

Sherlock fought back the darkness to the best of his abilities and pressed his face against the glass and could only watch the chaos before him.

"Mycroft! You can't do this! Don't risk your life for me - don't you dare! Find another way! Any way! Your plan is madness!" He willed his arms to move but found them completely paralyzed. It won't be long till his mind would succumb to the drug.

Outside the cryopod, the professor, unheard this whole time, was finally able to reach Mycroft as they shielded themselves on the ground.

"Holmes! We need to get to the ship now and start the warp! Any longer and _Botany Bay_ won't be able to take all damage! We need to go! Now!"

Mycroft nodded towards the professor, and began to lift himself off the crumbling floor. As he leaned against Sherlock's pod, he heard his brother protesting on his plans.

"You're completely stubborn, you know that?" he grunted. "Unless you can come up with another idea in less than five seconds, I don't think I can afford to change my mind. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

But Sherlock didn't want this. He didn't want this pain! He could already feel himself slipping as he imagined Mycroft saying goodbye.

It was like that train station memory of a long time ago.

He remembered why he decided to delete that happy memory. That was the day his brother left for abroad, and the last time he saw him smile genuinely. It was a bittersweet memory of goodbye, and he didn't want to create another one.

Little did Sherlock notice the tears that streamed down his face for the first time in a long while.

Mycroft's heart broke at the sight and yearned to gather his little brother up in his arms. But unfortunately, all he could do was smile.

"All lives end, Sherlock,"

An angered cry was heard muffled inside the safety of the chambers.

"all hearts are broken," Mycroft turned his head to the pod right next to Sherlock's and his eyes landed on the sleeping face of John Watson. The doctor, the blogger, and Sherlock's most trusted friend. The two made a beautiful partnership, one with skilled unity but also with a shed of immaturity that could only be made by the closest of bonds. Mycroft couldn't help but envision Sherlock and himself in their youth as he recalled catching the two blokes laughing and joking comfortably with Sherlock wearing nothing more than a thin bed sheet. Another round of guilt washed over him as he scanned the deteriorating room at the many pods containing the human lives he had endangered.

This was the least he could do to help them.

"Sherlock," he gave his brother one last nod, "They are your family now. Take care of them. Protect them with your every being. From the words of dear Mrs. Hudson, 'Family is all we've got in the end,'. I understand now the weight of those words, and you must too." Mycroft watched as Sherlock's eyes fluttered to a close even through his struggles to keep them open.

Besides him, Eugene screamed for him to evacuate immediately as the doorway began to malfunction and crumble. If he didn't leave now, there would be absolutely no chance of survival for any of them.

"Goodbye, Khan."

These words were the last Sherlock's mind had absorbed until the cold darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

"I didn't know that was your brother Holmes. I'm terribly sorry."

"No, don't be, you were just doing your job. I understand."

The professor and the elder Holmes frantically punched buttons and readied the very plan they had conjured up on their own. The tensions were thick inside the decoy ship, but the two wise men knew how to remain calm in order to work out what they needed to do.

Mycroft calculated a random coordinate for _Botany Bay's_ warp.

"Although Eugene, I didn't like it one bit when I heard you had shot John Watson out of drunken euphoria."

The admiral professor was able to give a dry chuckle that oozed guilt at the memory.

"I'm sorry."

It didn't take the two long to finally set up everything perfectly. The ships were closing in quick, and if they wanted to save the Augments, they had to do it now. They looked at each other for confirmation. "Warp drive engaged in 3..."

Mycroft looked back for the last time.

"2..."

The admiral confirmed the Augments's security.

"1..."

A deep whir echoed throughout the decoy ship's deck, and soon, a single flash of light indicated the invisible disappearance of the once doomed ship.

Eugene and Mycroft gave a breath of relief but it only lasted for a short while. Enemy fire had increased as the decoy ship had taken the place of _Botany Bay's_. Mycroft knew that they simply couldn't rejoice now.

The two took their place on control, struggling to manage everything with the availability of only two men, one with only one functioning arm. They attempted to steer out of range, hoping that a sliver of luck may come their way and save them from their own sacrifice.

But there were simply too many to try for an escape.

Ships surrounded their every corner and began to slither their way nearer onto the ship's vital regions. But Mycroft and Eugene wasn't surprised nor let did they let fear and panic come crawling into their rationality.

This was all part of the plan.

The two dropped everything they were doing and surrendered. A deathly silence pregnated the room.

"Are you sure there isn't any other way?" Eugene gulped down, hands trembled slightly and eyes fought back the stinging tears. But it was okay. This was for his Augments. It was better him than one hundred precious human beings. He knew he had done many ignorant mistakes that had led them here. He regretted every one of them. But what he couldn't take back was the joy he had felt as his lifelong research was finally brought to life. His superhumans. No...he shouldn't be devastated. They will live on with his sacrifice. Little did the Augments know of his respect and admiration for them.

Mycroft felt the ground quiver violently and his body being shook raggedly against his chair. But like the professor, he was prepared for this. This was for Greg. For John. For Sherlock. But for the first time in his well guarded and superior life, Mycroft Holmes was afraid to die.

Not because he cherished life to the fullest, but because his job of protecting people was coming to an end. That was what Mycroft did.

He protected.

As an enemy ship collided with the haul of the decoy, the only response he could give to the professor was a sly and witty smile.

* * *

**A/N Mycroft's fate is in your hands.**

**Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	15. Ghost Stories

_Year 2259_

_Starfleet was no longer a tiny name amongst crowded waters;_

_It's contributions was not just limited to one planet anymore, but to all._

_A simple organization, now the symbol of the universe's peace and coalitions._

_Ex astris, scientia._

_Nothing was forgotten, nothing was lost,_

_Except maybe one._

* * *

A story has been passed throughout the Academy ever since its origins. From lips to ears, over the years it began to fade and change until it was nothing more than a rumour; a legend.

A ghost story.

Every version had its similarities though.

God-like humans that once roamed the Academy's very halls,

A doomed ship carrying coffins in which they were laid to rest in,

A failed execution marked successful.

_SS Botany Bay_ now wanders off into the deepest of galaxies containing the bodies of superior beings; lost forever in space.

No one believed it to be true anymore. Time has long withered the truth away.

A memory turned into a legend, into a rumour, into a story, into a whisper.

Into darkness.

* * *

Kronos, a distant planet, unsocial and threatening. Although sharing a part of the Federation and signing the Treaty of Alliance, it remains a dangerous and secluded area for any intruders.

No one out of their own planet may enter, nor leave. No disturbances, no peace, no war. If one dares to break this simple order, a great power will unleashed upon the perpetrator and the unity Starfleet had ensued for many long years will be broken.

All trust will be lost.

Destruction will be imminent.

Kronos remains an untouchable planet, keeping its own word and following its part of the alliance only for the sake of politics and good relations. They do no harm in exchange for solitude, so no one dares to wake the sleeping beast.

But there would always be one...

Admiral Alexander Marcus. The head of Starfleet during his century, a member of Section 31, a husband, and a father.

Everyone starts off innocent.

But in the end, everyone loses to fear.

The intimidating Klingons that strayed in Marcus's sight haunted him every time he took his seat on the captain's chair. He felt as if one move, one single word he utters will spark war. This is the curse of command.

It started off as paranoia. The admiral himself was spotless in his work. His role as a fleet admiral was nothing more than perfection. So what frightened him? What caused his unusual fear of a distant planet who were beyond the threat of treason?

Perhaps it was for the sole reason of perfection.

Marcus wanted to be the leader worth a thousand praises. An admiral known for keeping the threats at bay. So he looked upon that planet with distaste. After all, it did have the ability to bring the greatest of threats to his leadership.

But...

Paranoia soon crumbled into obsession. For years now Marcus had carried his rank with accomplishment, nothing stirred in the great vastness of space under his command. Some could say he had fulfilled his role with the utmost achievement, but surprisingly enough, he refused to let go of his nesting resentment.

Marcus no longer feared the Klingon's wrath.

He_ craved_ it.

He wanted to feel the very adrenaline he awaited for as he cowered in the corner years ago. He was tired of hiding. He needed them to know that he won't succumb to their threats.

He saw them as beings willing to play as the big bad monster.

No, he wouldn't allow that. They couldn't threaten him. They weren't superior to him. So he concocted an absurd thought of waging war against them.

A match to finally eliminate this threat of danger.

To him it was bringing a great duty to the future of the Federation and Starfleet, but what it was was nothing more than extreme nationalism.

Following the destruction of Vulcan, Marcus began seeking ways to better defend and militarize the Federation, but in his own personal thoughts, he foresaw the war he sought with the Klingon Empire.

It was there. Inevitable.

An opportunity finally sitting on the palm of his hand.

The avid admiral began to seek assistance somewhere in the deepest of space. Scouring eyes scanned every quadron for anything that could aid him with his desires of being superior.

He needed intellect.

No, he needed _savagery_.

"Fight fire with fire," Marcus mumbled as he arched his back away from his chair, leaning forward as he examined the darkened atmosphere in front of him.

HIs preferences were difficult to follow however, making the search extend longer and longer adrift, hopping from one planet to the other. They would find species that were intellectual enough, but lacked the savagery. Some harbored great bloodlust but lacked the brain to be of any assistance.

Marcus couldn't find a crossroad. What he needed was mind similar to those of the Klingons. Someone who possess great knowledge yet also a fire that could spark enough hatred to kill.

But the admiral started to lose hope. Marcus sighed. He knew there was nothing there capable of what he wanted. There was no one who could contain such a contradiction trapped within the confinements of one body.

Well, except...

Marcus gave a stiff whisper of a laugh. Now he understood how desperate he was getting, considering ghost stories at a time like this. How childish of him.

But what the old admiral didn't expect once day as they continued on unknown territories far away from any form of civilization, was the bringing of life to that haunting tale of an abandoned ship drifting aimlessly out in space.

It started off as a simple beep in the radar as the cosmos began to surround the voyaging ship. They simply thought it was just a large piece of debri in their way but what Marcus noticed out in the distance was its detailed form. No rock can be chiseled with edges like that, nor would it bear markings of human letters and numbers tattooed on its side.

The closer they crept, the more the mystery ship began to take form. Everyone gave a big puff of breath, relieved it wasn't the massive rock they've thought was coming their way and began to edge closer.

Admiral Marcus awaited for the ship's contact.

Silence.

He sent signals and messages to inform them of their incoming.

Nothing.

The admiral frowned. About to place his foot down in slight annoyance of this rebellious ship, he commanded entrance and edged his vessel closer. But little did they know about its origins until the markings on its side became readable.

And when they did, a strange childhood chill ran down the crew's spines as they recalled the countless tales and stories told by Academy students to students as a way to frighten the future elites.

One of those stories contained a lonesome ship with a name that was now marked on the vessel in front of them, ruined and dark:

_SS Botany Bay_.

A soft murmur began to wave across the whole deck, and all eyes swiveled to stare at the frozen body of their captain.

The admiral felt his throat go dry instantly.

_The old DY-100 class ship. A vessel that shouldn't be. The rumours of coffins that littered the deck._

It was then that Marcus knew.

"All landing personnel on the voyager ship. Immediately!" he commanded as urgently as he could. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we've discovered an ancient mystery on our hands." The admiral's palm began to sweat with excitement, his heart beating frantically as he pulled on a serious face to hide his failing composure. Aboard that ship may just lie the answer to his desperate calls.

It was because Marcus knew who was aboard that ship. He knew, yet he feared.

A small crew of voyagers, including their admiral headed their way into the Botany Bay. As they got closer, the image of the vessel became more suiting for its ghostly origins. There were no source of power anywhere on sight. Cracks, dents, and holes littered the surface of the whole ship, making its image worse as they ventured deeper near its deck. All doors were secured and locked, but that didn't matter as the crew headed their way in using the large gaping hole that was blasted straight through the deck like an old cracked wound of a soldier's.

It was an eerie sight to behold.

Inside the ship was dark as the blackness of the galaxy itself. The floors they treaded on felt as if one slight touch of a misplaced tile might crumble the entire foundation. The life support system of the vessel was tarnished, and the many casualties apparent through the broken walls and windows had long sucked every speck of air out of anything living. They knew this ship had to be empty. There was nothing to find, nothing breathing nor anything that could be useful.

That was what they would've thought if they hadn't just entered a vessel in which harbored a great rumoured history.

_SS Botany Bay._

According to the stories, they weren't alone.

The admiral called forth the continuation of the trek on foot and ordered a clean sweep of the entire vessel. His eyes sparked with curiosity and excitement as he examined the deck. Ancient mechanics and primitive controls gave evidence to the ship's oldness.

His head swam in disbelief. "This is a DY-100..." he murmured to the group that accompanied him on the bridge. Stunned faces replicated themselves in each voyager's expression as they drank in the information given to them.

"That's impossible," one sputtered with a dry chuckle. "A DY-100 is one of Starfleet's very first approved ship. If it were true, then this vessel would be centuries old by now!"

Marcus sneered at the fear blinding their rationality. He could see the recruit who spoke up shift his eyes about every dark corners. He knew that man was afraid because he couldn't possibly accept the absurd truth.

With a turn of his heel and a click of the tongue, Admiral Marcus spun around and walked up the dismantled bridge to the torn yet perfectly standing captain's chair.

"The story goes that experiments once conducted in the very labs of Starfleet were announced as the perfect species. They were strong, admirable, and knowledgeable. No one knew of their original upbringings except for the fact that they started off as no more than regular humans that walked and breathed the same air our Earth could offer."

Marcus's long fingers began to trace the cracked edges of the seat before him as he continued on with the eeriness of his voice blending into the ambiance. Confuddled eyes trailed his movements and he began to repeat the tale of _Botany Bay._

"But as they morphed into greater beings, their existence were marked as a threat to mankind instead of the greatness their creator sought them to be. They became mad with power. They've killed. They've deceived. So they were sent to execution. For reasons being that these superhumans were nearly invincible, mankind had sent them off into space where they would be ambushed and left to suffocate in the coldness. Put into coffins and thrown into a prototype ship, they ventured off with no captain and no destination." Marcus continued to scan the room as he began his narration, piecing evidence with lore that did more to justify the story. An unmarked captain's chair. Equipment which looked as if it was half done. Missing parts of the control deck showed that this vessel was used simply for the sake of voyaging. No shield, no communicators, not even transmitters.

A prototype ship.

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of the old man's mouth. "A ship was destroyed that execution day. Obliterated. A task done with the finest of precision."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Marcus spotted something unusual lining the walls just outside the bridge. Moving a step closer, it looked as if it was just another crack that marred the rusting steel. But it wasn't that. No. A crack on the wall couldn't be that straight and alligned.

Marcus slipped his fingers through the edges, and felt a groan echo throughout the silent ship as he pulled. The supposed crack grew bigger as he peeked inside.

"But some say it wasn't_ Botany Bay_ that was destroyed."

His eyes widened at the sight.

"Some say foul play was involved and the real vessel was sent into the deepest of space where no one would dare to look."

With grunt and a final shove, the hidden door was revealed and ripped open. The bellowing sound that broke the silence called forth the voyagers into the bridge where everyone looked in pure amazement at their captain as he stood in a doorway that wasn't supposed to be found.

Amazement then turned into confusion. Then awe.

Alexander Marcus took a step back as he tried to apprehend what he was seeing. With a shaking whisper, the last line of the story began to flow out of his frozen lips.

"A ship adrift without a captain. Without destination. And coffins that littered the floor..."

In front of their very eyes, in a room far too small were the 100 missing cryopods toppled against each other in a sea of sleeping faces.

300 years later.

* * *

"_There will always be those who mean to do us harm. To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us. But that's not who we are.._

**Part 2**

**Into Darkness**

* * *

**A/N I'm so sorry for the long update T^T My out-of-town vacations had now ended so time is back on my hands to continue this sweet baby! Bear with me as I plunge once more into the world of treklock - talk about research galore! I even rewatched Into Darkness to make sure everything is all accurately written for this fic. **

**Now for some info: Part 2 Into Darkness will be set in time alongside the movie. But fret not! I'm not going to write out the whole thing strictly along its plot lines, that would be too damn repetitive to those who have already watched it (Those who haven't well, yeah you need to watch this baby - why else would you be here XD) The main POV starting from now on would be Khan's. We will delve into what his motives are and the scenes not shown or only implied in the movie (And a little of my own imagination from time to time). So...**

**Shall we begin?**


	16. Unforgotten

_"That. Was. Amazing"_

_"All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sher-"_

_"I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you."_

_"We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants."_

_"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."_

_"There are lives at stake, -lock! Actual human lives - just, just so I know, do you even care about that at all?"_

_"You reeled me in with a source of danger when we first met, I blame you."_

_"This is all my doing, Sher-" "I was so alone, and I oweyousomuch-" "Youlooksadwhenyouthinkhecan'tseeyou-" "Ijusthaveone-" "Youtreatmeasifi'mworthsaving-" "Mydearlittlebrother-" "Themosthuman,humanbeing-" "Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don'texist, and if they did, Iwouldn'tbeoneofthem-"_

_"One more miracle S-, for me-"_

_"But we both know that's not quite true..."_

* * *

A sickening warmth forcefully entered dry lungs. Stiff, frozen bones cracked in unison as strong hands clasped around something hard and very cold.

His back ached as he desperately coughed out the foreign feeling that invaded his body,

The fire of life thawing slumber out of his system.

Soft voices kept echoing around him, leading him to the surface. One, in particular, was gruff and seemingly accomplished by the tone, but it faded away just as quick as it had entered.

With every push of his mind and the nudging of his muscles, the man swimming out of his sleep-state could now almost feel a growing warmth enter his fingertips.

But suddenly, something like burning embers collided against his frozen skin which made him reel back harshly, feeling his muscles thrash on its own by a matter of protection, but the burning only grew hotter.

Something in him refused to follow the light.

Something that tugged him further down back into the coldness; the darkness.

He began to calm as he finally felt the warm throbs of his heart pound inside his chest.

Slowly and carefully, heavy eyelids struggled to peer through thick lashes, black as the darkness itself. Within a second, a small shed of light was able to enter through that tiny crack and had touched the long neglected pupil, dilapidating them immediately into microscopic dots against a stunning blue.

Unfortunately, during that opportune moment, he was still blinded and simply couldn't reclaim the sight of where he was or who was with him. It burned far too much.

He hated it.

No.

He couldn't do it. Darkness was his solitude. The glowing fingertips of his subconscious mind, now drifting just below the surface was quickly pulled back down.

He didn't want to. He was afraid.

Somewhere in the blackest corner of his blurred memories, he began to recall a scene. A moment in his life in which was repeating right now.

Gasping breaths. Violent tremors. A sharp pain that shot through his head like a million bullets.

Crumbling. Awakening.

Remembering that memory, he began to push farther down away from that ghastly light.

But as he did, something else protested behind him, preventing him from going any further. Another voice. Someone more familiar, as if branded into his own brain, pushing him back up.

But stubbornness still stirred. He continued to sink further down, more desperately this time. The last time he gave into the light, his mind exploded.

Waking up was like hot water poured down on a glass made of ice. The more he ignored the insufferable heat, the quicker his barrier melted until it was too much.

Everything spilled over, and Khan's eyes flew open.

* * *

Silence.

Unbearable silence.

Then a whisper.

And an echo.

Eyes fluttered alarmingly as a blinding white invaded shadowed sight.

The first thing Khan had set his eyes on were the many faces surrounding him. Squinting his unfocused pupils, he saw a great deal of strangeness staring down at his own form.

Young, old, green, blue.

Smiling, frowning, amazed, and terrified. All directed on him.

One in particular, held an expression Khan despised the most. A flash of memory shot through his mind and he couldn't help but snarl.

A smile, wrinkly and old, upon a face that almost resembled the man in Khan's memory.

And for a tiny second, the awakening Augment almost tackled the grinning man and killed him on the spot.

Almost.

His eyes began to clear out of the fog and the blur had simply washed away. Focusing now, Khan can see that that man was just another stranger. Another face in the crowd.

As he felt more in control of his body and the coldness finally creeping away, strong arms began to grasp whatever he was lying on and pulled himself up. But what he felt that racked against his wrist and ankles took him by surprise.

Khan followed the length of his body and found himself strapped, chained, and barred into a slab of steel fixated with buttons that he knew would only put him in more danger. Looking up, that one haunting smile stretched much more.

Khan felt his temper rise. But before could even twitch, the man eased his way in closer to him.

"Admiral! Please not so close! We still don't know anything about this man!" Frantic whispers and warnings pleaded to reel him away back into safety, but were utterly ignored with a wave of a hand. "Admiral!"

'Admiral?' Khan was so taken aback that he almost released a humorous laugh. Instead, he settled for a sardonic grin. _'How many similarities must you two share before you end up the same as him.'_

Khan scoffed, but realization struck fast and latched onto his mind like grabby hands. '...end up the same as him...but what did happen to him?' His smile vanished as quick as it came.

"You're alive." the admiral hummed.

"I shouldn't be."

"Well aren't you right about that."

A surge of memories flowed streamingly in Khan's mind, but gentler this time. He placed a hand against his temple and waited for the pain to strike.

Nothing.

"What's the matter?" Marcus said in a grave tone, "What was so funny?"

Old dark eyes clashed with electric blue and Khan immediately leaped out of his position, but he faced obstacle as his restraints prevented him from moving any more than an arms length. The only reaction he received from the stoic admiral was the slight step of the foot back and an inclination of the head.

Khan remembered.

He was not alone.

99 other pods, a ship under fire, his brother, the admiral,

goodbyes.

'_WHERE ARE THEY?!'_ Khan wanted to screech out, but his dry, unused throat only allowed a racking cough to escape his lips. He tried once more, but only ended up with sandpaper screams.

Admiral Marcus looked with distaste mixed with curiosity at the choking creature in front of him, and without even giving Khan a second to recover, a spitfire of questions began to roll out of his tongue.

"What's your name? What's your purpose? You're wearing a Starfleet insignia, is it true? Who are the others? How did you escape? Who saved you?"

The endless toll of squabbles that were thrown at him did nothing more than fuel the Augment's rage. With every word, Khan felt a tick gnawing in his already deranged head so it didn't take long for him to finally snap.

Fully revived muscles tensed with red heat and the measly poor excuse of a chain cracked and gave way as easy as hair under Augment strength. A slam of a great fist down the steel table in which he laid on caved as he used it to push himself off and in front of the Admiral. Using the other hand, Khan gathered up Marcus's shirt collar and pulled him close with a harsh tug. He snarled in anger and finally spat out the words he longed to say while ignoring the pain that streamed down his throat.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!"

Panicking spectators bellowed in distress for their admiral's safety behind the protection of glass walls while security scrambled inside ready to fire.

But something stopped them dead in their pursuit towards the enemy.

A single but powerful hand that simply waved them away. As if that wasn't confirmation enough, the other nudged a gun deeper into Khan's chest and looked him dead in the eyes.

Admiral Marcus stared without fear at the dangerous man and simply whispered. "Now I'll take it slow this time, starting off with one question at a time. What is your name?"

The gun pressed deeper as silence stretched longer, but Khan only lifted the Admiral higher and his hands gripped tighter. He didn't even give his critical action a second thought for he knew better.

"Shoot me right now '_Admiral'_, and we'll see who drops dead on the floor first." Khan's eyes gleamed, but Marcus's blazed.

And he smiled.

When he saw the confusion mark instantly in Khan's face, he knew that he was now the bigger man.

"Suppose I do shoot. Suppose you kill me. How then will you find the others? Threaten my men? No. Your frozen crew will be obliterated the moment my dead body hits the floor. So, what will it be?"

Alive. Everyone's alive. Khan unraveled his tight fingers and dropped the Marcus onto his feet the moment he uttered the predicament of his crew.

_'They are your family now. Take care of them. Protect them with your every being,'_ a memory echoed. Taking another look at Marcus and his steel gaze, Khan knew that there was no compromise.

_'Goodbye, Khan.'_ the voice rang again which caused the Augment to wince. Not in pain, but in memory.

The voice he knew all too well. A brother...

Khan's chest throbbed once more.

"Khan." he whispered lowly as Marcus tended to his crumpled shirt, clearly unaffected by his wrath. "My name is Khan."

The sudden confession didn't at all surprise the admiral. All he did was smirk and turned to stare at the guards and attendants left behind him. Although they nodded and gave sighs of relief, Marcus could feel the very fear that they had plastered on their faces. He had done it. He had finally taken control of the situation.

Everything was placed perfectly where he wanted them to be on his chessboard.

With his back facing the Augment, and arms folded behind him, Marcus stood with pride. "Khan. I have great expectations for you."

"What do you need me for?"

"Many things, I assure you. But you will have to obey every one of my commands. Everything I say will be law."

Khan bit his tongue to keep himself from snarling. No matter how much they looked or act alike, Khan had to admit that the admiral professor and this man were completely different. One was ignorant, while the other emitted an aura of intelligence that was safe to say, comparable to his.

And that was something Khan knew he had to tread lightly on.

"And my crew?" he spoke gravely. Fingers twitched with nervous anticipation.

Marcus began to walk out the door. He got what he needed. The attention of Khan. But the sadistic lump in his subconscious pulled him to play with the monster more. Just a tease.

"Don't worry," he breathed. "They'll be untouched, you have my word. All 72 of them."

Slip of the tongue.

An ignorant mistake.

As the number ghosted by Khan's ears, panic and fire mixed as a dangerous combination. Before the guards could do anything and before Marcus could even hear the sounds of broken, rattled chains, Khan had closed the gap between them and had the admiral pinned against the glass walls. Cracks splinted behind the body forming what looked like broken wings.

Guns were raised but did not fire. The look on Marcus's still fearless eyes told his men enough.

"Yes?" the admiral managed to choke out. Khan's emotions blazed like hell fire and his hands now took hold of the admiral's fragile neck and squeezed.

"You said 72. 72-THERE WERE A HUNDRED OF US!"

"K-kha-"

Khan gave the man another blow against the glass, spreading the skeletal wings into a larger, broken form and dropped the heaving Marcus on the ground.

"EXPLAIN!"

Admiral Marcus had no chance but to utter an explanation under the Augment's glower. He needed his cooperation.

"Don't jump to conclusions, we did find a hundred of you-"

"SO WHERE-"

"LET ME EXPLAIN!" Marcus heaved. Khan's stubbornness was beginning to affect him as well. "100 were found, but 28 pods were malfunctioned. They were all dead before we had the chance to even save one of them. It was a cryopod failure-there was nothing we could do."

The admiral watched as Khan's expression went from enraged to pure sadness, then back to an intensified glare as they met eyes.

Little did he know that a storm was brewing in the deepest parts of Khan's mind. Faces emerged and faded, voices murmured, then silence.

But one, in particular, stayed.

Sand colored hair. Eyes of bluish green. A face marked with experiences worth a lifetime. Bravery. Loyalty.

_'...as if I'm worth saving...'_

"Take me to see them." Khan demanded harshly. "I want to see for myself." A fear chilled down his spine as the thought of not seeing that face among the other surviving 72 haunted him already. He needed to know.

"I'm not letting you see them unti-" Marcus started but was cut off once again with a blow to the face. Despite all the torment,a quivering hand was still raised to fend off his anxious guards. _'Not yet.'_

"NOW."

Marcus thought it thoroughly while wiping the stream of blood from his nose. Khan wouldn't kill him if he held the lives of his precious crew in his hands. He was certainly unafraid to bash and clobber the admiral, that was evidence enough, but not kill.

Marcus had immunity over the brooding man's wrath.

What he needed was trust, though. Certainly these frozen people were nothing more than of great importance to the Khan, so proving to him that they were unharmed was a safe enough gamble. No matter how much he wanted to kill the bastard with his own hands.

The admiral coughed up a splatter of blood onto the floor before standing up and facing Khan once again.

"Fine."

* * *

Darkened faces surrounded them. A cold chill nested inside the room; cold like death.

Admiral Marcus's bravado always dissipates the moment he steps into this grave chamber. He feels weak; inferior. He hated it.

All he did was stand as Khan frantically searched row by row, checking each sleeping face with the utmost carefulness. Marcus watched the disheveled man as he growled with growing hatred.

"What exactly are you looking for-"

"SHUT UP!"

Marcus tsked. This one was a ticking time bomb waiting to happen.

But Khan had his reasons. Reasons that scrambled the very nerves and fibers of his every being. 28 were dead.

_He_ could be one of them.

_'No,'_ he shoook his head of the thought. '_He's alive. He has to be.'_

By the third row of cryopods, he came face to face with a certain grey haired inspector,frozen and stiff in his spot. He gave a sigh of relief and a curt nod._ 'Lestr...Tobias...'_ Khan struggled for a name, but found two instead. '_No matter_, he thought. '_As long as he's alive_.'

But he couldn't rejoice now.

Not yet.

Row after row, pod after pod, none held the person who Khan held most dear.

His blogger,

His doctor,

His...

Gasping for breath, Khan found himself facing what he feared the most: The very last row, and more different faces. They seemed to stare at him; mocking him.

Khan took a frightful step slowly in front of the 72nd pod. He stared at his feet, shaking visibly with tears forcing itself out of his eyes. Khan was afraid.

Starting from the bottom, slowly and hesitantly, his gaze made way to the top where he might see who was the very last survivor.

That was when his heart beat slowed down to a crawl.

When red stained eyes finally reached the final face, the barricaded tears came streaming down Khan's cheek and curved against the pulled corners of his lips.

Khan gave a final flustered smile as he laid a hand against the freezing glass and kept it there for a long while. He was safe. He was here. And even after death, Sherlock never forgot...

"John..."

* * *

**A/N ****To those still wondering what Mycroft's and Eugene's fate were, I'm going to pull a Moffat on you guys. Everything you need to know about them can be revealed in the previous chapter, just really ****_really _****subtly, so get deducing!**

**A much needed heads up! As another school year draws near, updates ****_will _****be more sporadic and maybe even a bit longer depending on how busy I am T^T Nevertheless, I will still continue to finish this fic even if I end up old and withered away! Reviews are helpful and welcomed! (and so very much loved =w=) :3**


	17. An Empty Battleground

_Khan and Marcus_

_The Augment and the Admiral, seated quietly in an empty, bleach white room._

_A small and skinny table was placed between the two;_

_A chessboard presenting itself on top._

_Classic._

_Monochrome._

_Empty._

_"300 years."_

_"Give or take. Well, going by the stories I've heard and those god-ancient cryotubes-"_

_"Stories?"_

_"You're legends, Khan. A tale like yours floating around for this long - truth begins to wither and alter. Soon enough, people stop listening. To be honest, I never believed in that crazy old wacko story I heard among boys in the bathroom during my Academy years. But here you are..."_

_"There's no trace of us anywhere then?"_

_"None. You don't exist."_

_Chess pieces stayed untouched._

_The timer remained unticking._

_The game was over long before Marcus could even invite Khan to play._

_It was because the silent Augment had already won inside his own mind._

_One single glance of the checkered pattern was like the starting gun fire in a foot race; his head exploded into a maddening sprint and before the two even took the chance to sit down and Khan had already foresaw the numerous way he could win _and_ lose._

_Once revealed, the admiral had saved himself the humiliating defeat by leaving the game alone and just sat there._

_Kings twiddled between their fingers as they spoke to each other._

_Pawns watching; Knights waiting._

_"You understand what you are to do for me, correct?"_

_Eyes cast downward. A spinning piece rotating between his middle and forefinger. A deep brooding voice echoed through the cylinder walls._

_"Understood."_

_Marcus stared at the man in front of him, clearly engrossed in his own world with the king now being flipped into the air. No smiles, nor smirks, nor wits. The admiral just stood and sighed before placing his own king onto the board and started for door. _

_The soft click of wood on wood however, caught Khan's attentive ear and soon enough, he had willed his eyes towards the game._

_"Queen's Dance." his booming voice resonated. Curious, Marcus turned._

_"My queen a knight's distance away, wherever your king goes, I follow. When your king touches a corner, I bring in mine close enough and..."_

_"Checkmate..." Marcus stood with his back still facing his company, a poorly hidden face of surprise marked on his face._

_"Care to play then?"_

_"Oh I'm sure you've already won."_

_Knitting his brows together, and tightening his fists at the Augments clear superiority, the admiral maintained himself and walked calmly out the door._

_Devious Khan only went back to his own king in his hands with an unamused look._

_But after the admiral had left and the piece now held steadily within his grip did he only burst into a face of smugness at the lone chess board with a single king amongst an empty battleground._

_"Wherever you go, I'll follow...and soon enough..."_

_A cracking sound._

_A splintering of wood._

_In his hands laid the king with its neck snapped in half._

* * *

Marcus looked down at columns that littered the ground floor below him.

Every day he would stare.

Every day he would watch over Khan as he visited his crew.

It was an agreement that they've made to strengthen their trust with one another. Khan was granted permission into the holding unit in exchange for fulfilling the requests Marcus would throw at him. So far, there hasn't been any disagreements. Just silence.

Marcus never understood why Khan would use this time to enter a cold and dark room with empty silence in the air. To him, he saw it as a man walking past 72 open graves.

A cold shiver made its way up the admiral's spine.

But it wasn't just the man's wordless visits that uneased Marcus.

As the admiral watched from his hidden balcony overlooking the whole facility, crinkled eyes focused towards the black figure brooding over the last pod at the end of the line.

Khan, feared and menacing, could be found with softened eyes and relaxed muscles everyday, standing or sometimes sitting cross legged in front of that single chamber he had always watched over.

Sometimes, his pale hand would hover just above the sleeping face before he brings it down slowly against the glass.

Tiny movements of the lips would indicate soft spoken words that would flow out of his usually clamped shut mouth, and a rare smile of sentiment tugging slightly across his angled face, speaking to no one.

To an unconscious remnant.

To his dearest friend.

Marcus took great notice of this.

The admiral, from time to time, would take the opportunity of Khan's absence to stand in his very place in front of that one frozen coffin and just...look.

Beyond the frosted glass which held the clear imprint of the previous visitor's large hands, laid nothing more than an average man. Ashy blond hair with a face in which his creases made him seem younger somehow. He slept as if he was at peace yet at the same time, it indicated a growing disturbance stirring inside. An eternal nightmare.

Taking a step forward, Marcus slowly brought his own arm up and carefully placed the pads of his fingertips above the sleeping Augment and sighed deeply with a frown deepening on the corner of his lips.

"Who are you?" he breathed quietly, desperately aching for their history.

Twitching fingers yearned to open the sealed pod; to awaken the beast inside. But Marcus knew better. He knew that by doing so would pose a much dangerous threat and that one Augment awake was enough for his use. Not only that, but this was clearly someone who can be used to control the raging Khan if he ever dared to disobey his words. No, this man was better off asleep to Marcus than awake. He was of much importance.

But still, the curious admiral couldn't help but wonder.

Who was this man? And who was he to the feared Khan?

_'Why you?'_

After a few moments of hanging silence, he then let the tips of his fingers slowly slide away before turning back and escaping the chilling atmosphere.

As he sits alone back at that empty white room, two chess pieces dangled from long fingers above the empty chessboard. The admiral did nothing but to ponder quietly as he watches them sway in the air, the flashes of that mystery man's face entering his mind.

Out the window, Khan was once again returned to his usually spot in front of the pod like a dog protecting his bone. Marcus glared.

"So what are you, sleeping soldier?" The two pieces now placed in the center of the board.

"A knight..."

A smirk appearing all too suddenly in the admiral's devious face.

"...or a pawn?"

* * *

**A/N The Queen Dance: A move using the queen piece to follow the opponent's king as if by "dancing" and efficiently forces the king into the corner in which he is then trapped and checkmated. **

**So, can anyone tell me what or who each piece mentioned represents? ;)**

**Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	18. The First Piece

Papers and tools cluttered the long steel table situated in the middle of a buzzing room. Sparks blazed as metal struck each other, and melted iron leaked into one another as they combined to become one. The air stung with the smell of various mixtures and acids, and the very breath of hot, stale air entering the body would cause nothing more than burnt lungs.

This small workplace served for one person and one person only. No one was allowed in when he was working, but no one really dared. All he did was work.

Khan was stooped over blueprints and textbooks as he studied them closely. His broad back was arched over in a perfect curve, and his face was deep in concentration. It was such a statuesque sight; a genius in his place.

The task of creating and mechanizing for the admiral seemed simple and accomplishable for the superhuman intellect, but everyone seems to be forgetful of his true age. Almost 300 years have passed - Khan had 300 years worth of new knowledge to catch up on.

Starfleet's technology also grew throughout time, so the ancient Augment had to learn as much as possible in order to follow Marcus's growing orders. Khan felt like a primitive surrounded by such advanced spectacles the Starfleet of his day would've never dreamt of accomplishing, but of course, his great mind quickly grew out of astonishment. Except for one device that had caught his eye.

It shocked him, amazed him,

and angered him.

The transporter.

A common device today, but an unthinkable miracle three centuries ago, and Khan couldn't help but obsess over it. The thought the ability of one object being able to dematerialize, transmit and reassemble an object astonished him so much that he had practically dedicated most of his time in learning about every single inch of the device, and soon enough, he was even able to create his very own with only the help of his extreme knowledge. An incredible feat for an ancient man, but was kept secret and was told of to no one.

But one thing kept haunting Khan everytime he pondered on the concept of the transporter, something that had him clenching his fists in rage.

200 years ago, the subspace device had replaced the cryotubes in use for long-range transports and had eliminated the need for frozen sleep. A simple fact written in every student's textbooks, but to Khan, it was a missed opportunity.

He thought about that day that had branded itself in his mind ever since it came back to him.

The chaos, the goodbyes, the sacrifices,

his brother.

Oh the things he would've done to bring this machine back into the past. He could've saved his whole crew, and he could've save Mycr-

Khan threw a lethal punch at the steel table, denting it deep and tearing its sides. He clenched his eyes in guilt and shame.

Khan couldn't even recall his own brother's name and it crippled him.

"After all he's done to protect me," he whispered to John one day as he sat in front of him in anguish, "and I can't even remember his bloody name!"

And because of it, Khan himself had worked on advancing the very transporters that could've saved everyone.

He worked quietly and efficiently, using only the leftover scraps and equipment granted to him for Admiral Marcus's requests. No one ever suspected, nor foresaw the genius's secret contraptions.

As Khan welded and assembled, one knuckled knock vibrated against the door of his workplace. No disturbances were permitted, but only one man was enough in rank to break it.

Khan tsked, but he had no choice. With a push of a button, all buzzing equipment slowed to a hum, ventilation powered on, and the doors slid open with a slight hiss. The admiral, strict and posed entered without a moment of hesitation. In the crook of his elbows held various rolled up blue paper.

The busy Augment looked up from his work and pushed up the goggles now pinning down his raven-black hair. His eyes narrowed in on the contents tucked snuggly on the admiral's arm.

"Surprised to see me?" Marcus said casually as he made his way across the table.

"You never seem to trouble yourself by visiting me, what brings your honored presence here in my domain?" Khan's gloved hands swished around the room in mock grace as he smiled at his unamused superior.

Marcus, knowing Khan's sarcastic charade, went on to continue explaining his arrival.

"I'm here to deliver more blueprints-"

"Oh? Don't you usually send your men to do that tedious task for you?"

Marcus glared and shook his head. He carefully laid the large papers down onto a clear surface and carefully smoothed it out for the Augment to exam, pinning the edges with random tools as paperweight.

"_These_, I want prioritized."

Khan snapped out of his recent demeanor and hunched back over above a new set of requests. But this time, his focused eyes widened in such bafflement, a small surprising gasp would've squeaked out of his throat if it wasn't for great control.

Printed on the thick blue paper, etched in thin white lines, formed something greater than what Khan had ever created. In front of him laid the unfinished blueprints of an enormous starship much larger and fiercer than what Starfleet had ever designed. It had a chilling form, almost monster-like in size. Although there were missing lines and empty space, the ship on paper already felt like it was ready enough to engulf a whole planet. Khan tore his gaze away from the design to quickly meet eyes with Marcus's, smiling before him.

"Impressed?"

"What is this?"

"My most favored creation, and your most important project." The hazy blue eyes of the admiral gleamed with pride. "This is the very first of the _Dreadnought class_ ships. Two times the size of a _Constitution class_ and greater in power."

"And you want me to build it?" Khan cocked an eyebrow at Marcus's stiff chuckle.

"No no, this will be far too much for a lone person-even for you. Leave the building to us. What I want is you to help design it."

The admiral then began to trace the lineless spots on the paper, pointing them out and tapping them with the edge of his nail. Khan observed.

Whatever this monstrosity was, the clever Augment knew it wasn't going to be made for just expedition.

Ignoring the babblings of Marcus's explanations, Khan straightened in form and looked him dead in the eyes, claiming his attention immediately. This was no ordinary space ship.

In a dark, demanding tone, Khan asked deeply, "What is its purpose?"

What he suspected was a vague answer or a shake of the head in refusal for an answer, but what he got instead was Marcus's gleaming eyes.

"To destroy Kronos once and for all."

Blunt.

Apathetic.

The admiral simply shrugged off the answer as if it was nothing but a casual reply. Khan's brows furrowed and his stare burned in anger and confusion.

Khan had learned everything he needed to learn about Kronos and the Klingons. He learned that they were not to be meddled with and are the source of great intelligence and savagery. Kronos, was marked untouchable. Those who do so will spark immediate war with the specie,

and that person was standing right in front of him with the very weapon between them.

"I'm making you in charge with designing the weapons for this ship. I need it more advanced than a_ Constitution's_, and effective enough to destroy ships and Kronos with a single push of a button- do you understand?"

The two stared at each other in silence until Khan was finally able to open his mouth, their stare still tightly locked into each other's.

"I have read and studied everything there is to know about the Klingon Empire and there is no information effective enough for me to specifically design a weapon targeted for their specie - I don't know their weaknesses! I need more information!-"

"There is no more information! What you've learned from all those textbooks and archives-everything you know about them is all there is! What the Klingons gives to us is all we've got! They are a closed-off, warrior race to be feared with-"

"THEN WHY EVOKE WAR?!" Khan's sudden outburst nearly made the admiral himself jump out of his own skin. The table rattled slightly in reaction to another torn corner unknowingly ripped out of pure Augment strength. Marcus's eyes caught glance of the jagged steel piece carelessly thrown out of Khan's strong hands and scoffed.

As the ringing of leftover echoes subdued, another tasteless silence hung in the air mixed with angered glares.

Marcus leaned forward slightly and threw his own fists on top of the blueprint splayed across the much abused surface, his face now scrunched up in unhidden rage. "Do NOT question ME, Khan. You are to simply obey MY commands without a word- _do you understand_."

Steaming animosity began to bubble inside Khan's delirious mind. So badly did he want punch that old wrinkled face and spit words of fire into his direction, but he knew better. Little by agonizingly little, he suppressed his spontaneous emotions by biting his tongue until he tasted blood well up inside his mouth, but he couldn't care less. He could already feel the healing effects stitch his splitting tongue back together in no time.

"...What do you need me to do?" His sentence was spoken softly but through gritted teeth.

Marcus sneered.

"Like I said, you'll be designing the weapons. Know that this class ship is solely made for combat so there is no limit to your creativity. Listen to me when I tell you this. I do not just want your intelligence for this Khan, I want your _savagery_."

"Fight fire with fire..." The Augment stared at the sketched ship before him.

"Glad you're finally seeing it through my perspective."

Ignoring the toothy grin, Khan pointed out the rest of the missing designs. "And the rest?"

"I'll let you be creative with the rest. Add in what you think is necessary, and include the plans I've created as well. Once you're done, I want the blueprints sent to me, and the weapons done and ready for transport. I want you to deliver it to where the ship will be built."

"Where?"

"It'll be constructed from the Io Facility, a space dock in orbit of the Jovian moon Io."

Khan blinked in surprise. "Jupiter?"

"Is there a problem?"

He couldn't help but stifle a chuckle. "You want _me_ to deliver the weapons myself? Finally allowing me to see the 'glorious' world above?"

Marcus smirked deviously. "Mister Khan, think of yourself simply like an animal in a box. Once in awhile, you've got to open the lid to let it breathe. I look forward to your input on my ship, Khan. I'm sure you're crew would also be proud of what your intellect has done."

Khan gritted his teeth at the snarkish mention of his crew and watched as the admiral left once again out the door. But fortunately, he took this precious opportunity of silence to finally breathe.

He leaned on the surface of the table, his arms supporting his heavy body and his hanging head. Below him, the _Dreadnought_ floated amongst the blue space, and his mind raced with ideas of destructive components and durable armor.

Out of the corner of his vision, his eyes suddenly shifted to his hidden device stashed amongst pieces of scraps and finished projects.

Grabbing a pencil with quick agility, Khan then began scribbling into the lineless corners and empty space of the blueprint. His hands squirmed in rapid fire, attempting to keep up with the information Khan's mind was spilling out and within moments, the simply sketched lines of an enlarged Starfleet ship was now a fully equipped war machine. He was truly a brilliant mind. A whole ship designed in less than a day.

The bridge was modified into a small and cramped space designed to be run by the captain single-handedly, engineerings were designed so that it could run autonomously if needed, and deflector dishes were created with protective armored plates to defend during battle. Powerful arrays of advanced phaser emitters were also included with single hits able to to penetrate _Constitution_ shields and damage hulls and an advanced warp capability three times the speed of any other. Khan designed this ship with only one thing in mind:

To become what _SS Botany Bay_ was not. The memory of that flimsy prototype still haunted him to this day. The easily deteriorating foundations and the failing protective shields that took the life of his brother made him take advantage of the future's advanced creations to avoid another of that vulnerable ship. That was his intention for the _Dreadnought_.

But Khan wasn't done yet. He still had one weapon in mind.

As the tip of his pencil tapped against the table, Marcus's words echoed in his mind. _"...like an animal in a box...open the lid to let it breathe..."_

Khan found himself chuckling deeply as he analyzed those very words. With one last single swipe of the lead, he added in his last design to the great ship and smirked.

"Be carefully when you open the box, admiral," Khan whispered as he stepped back to take a full glance at the now finished blueprint. "the beast inside might just jump out from right under your nose..."

Sketched right above the floating vessel was a single crown, simple but noticeable, marking it as king.

Everything was easily falling into place.

His chessboard finally gaining a piece.

It wasn't long until he could finally play.

* * *

**A/N *A ****_Constitution-class _****ship is what the Enterprise is. **

**Alright so I didn't expect chess to play a big part in this, but as soon as I learned the Queen Dance and applied it to my own interpretation of Khan's plans and motives, I started laughing because it fitted so well, so here is one ****_very _****important concept to remember if you don't know the concepts of each piece in chess: ****_The queen is the most powerful piece on the board - the king is the most important - but the queen is more powerful than anybody. _****Keep that in mind now. **

**Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	19. A Fool's Game

**KHAN-**

_"All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots."_

I've said it before, now I say it again.

Working kept me sane.

But this time, my brain will do more than just rot if I didn't.

It will burn.

And as cruelly ironic as it sounds, Marcus's never-ending requests were the ones that saved me from losing my sanity. Every day it was project after project.

Planning and inventing

_Thinking._

It was all I could do to keep in control.

Cool ice to soothe the fire.

My hands stole the spotlight away from my madness - they were always busy, always moving. I avoided times in which my head was clear and vulnerable for the darkness to fester.

I avoided the darkness as much as I could,

but…

It tempted me.

Not only would it consume my very being and wipe all of the little morality left in me, but it also holds my most precious memories. If I were to give in now, I could remember_ everything._

My identity,

My brother,

My family.

I want to remember, I want to know!

But it's a price I must pay to keep them all alive.

I grunted, twisting the scrap metal in my hands as I continued working. I hated thinking about my own ignorance. I hated Marcus for thrusting me back into the world in which we were shunned from, all alone.

I hated being able to breathe as the others relied on ancient machinery to keep them alive.

It angered me that all I could do now was watch them sleep helplessly.

A crunching sound indicated the weak metal snapping under my own force. How frail...stupidly feeble. With a snarl ripping through my throat, the pathetic thing had went from my grip to the wall with a shattering bang in an instant.

Hands clutched and pulled at my scalp as I stood.

A redness bordered my vision with teeth snarling with animosity.

My memories fail me.

I had nothing left.

Nothing…

I stood there for a while, pathetic and weak as the crumpled heap in front of me. I could feel my own nails digging through my head with great force and cold blood dripping down my jaw and splattering the papers that littered the table.

Papers that held blueprints.

Blueprints that will turn into weapons.

Weapons for my plan.

My eyes widened when I recalled. Bloodied hands fell limply against my sides and a shaky breath escaped my lips as I calmed. I closed my eyes once more.

Behind my lids was a striking light that burned through my blazing mind like cool wind to a desert. A face stared back at me with a scowl as if he were to punish me for neglecting him.

A face which then always softens to a smile not long after.

Strong but tragic eyes

A warm but broken soul.

A microscopic sad smile began to play at my lips for the shortest second.

No, I didn't have nothing.

I had_ someone._

Someone who still lingers in my corrupted mind. The reason I still continue to follow the Admiral's shadow. My knight on the battlefield.

I remembered him. How foolish was I to forget?

Stained fingers reached to pick up the wrinkled papers, inking them with the red markings of my fingertips. I studied my invention closely, slowly searching for flaws I knew were nonexistent. The workings of my mind began to churn once more, barring the impudent madness away as intellect seeped through.

I foresaw my plans of escape.

Little did Marcus know I was already a hundred moves away from him, and the bloodstained blueprint in my hands were only part of the beginning.

I picked up the marred steal and placed it back onto the table to be reused. I couldn't waste anything now and I needed to work.

I didn't even consider pushing down the goggles that rested on my head and instead, let the sparks graze along my skin as fire began to solder the beginnings of my creation.

Marcus wanted me to create weapons, so it shall be.

I looked over once more at the paper below me and studied it's contents.

Torpedos.

All 72 of them.

* * *

For the first time in a long while I finally had the most gracious opportunity of stepping outside to see the world I had left behind no more than three long centuries ago.

After being held inside the Admiral's basement ever since I had woken up from my slumber, I had yet to have the blissful sun strike my long-neglected eyes, and when it reached it's first touch of the blinding rays, no superhuman strength could save me from the unimaginable pain.

Suddenly, the air was too hot and the light too bright.

I felt my cold skin thaw from the natural light and everything in my body rejecting the sensation of the sun's heat. It was a cruel torture, like the universe was punishing me for escaping the consequences of life and age.

I scowled. If that was the reason for letting me burn, then what was the reason to put the lives of my crew in strangers' hands. When did I ask to be awoken from my centuries' sleep?

Why was I given life when my own brother had to die.

Wasn't that punishment enough?

My constricted pupils swiveled towards the fire and stared as they battled with blindness.

_The sun._ The holder of life on this all too dependent planet. A planet I had once called home before I was cruelly taken away from it.

I will make Starfleet _burn_ in it.

_"I will burn you…"_

My body tensed as my mind raced on suddenly.

What-

_"I will burn the _heart_ out of you…"_

A sudden chill crawled up my every being. An unrecalled memory began to unfurl itself and it uneased me.

In my mind, a scene began to reveal itself to me. A man who had intellect of great deception, a man who wanted his enemies to burn…

Was it...me?

Was I recalling myself? Standing there with cold eyes…

I concentrated deeply, fishing out an identity. M-

"Khan."

A disgruntled sigh emitted from my lips as the memory was immediately cut from my grasp, sinking back into the darkness by the sharp voice that blared from behind.

Slowly taking my time to turn, my scorning gaze was once again met with the stare of the old Admiral, his face projected largely on the screen in front of me.

I scoffed at his bulbous head.

"So tell me, how are you liking the outside world so far? Have the sun changed during the last time you've felt it?"

The fool looked down on me in mock kindness, but I also responded back in false benevolence.

"What are your orders, Admiral?"

Marcus himself had to cock a brow at my statement, but then furrowed as he noticed the sarcasm coating each syllable that came out of my mouth. I smiled at his puerile gesture.

Moving out of the sun's presence, I slowly made my way back into the cold shade and relaxing into its gloom as the Admiral watched my every move. His eyes told a hint of suspicion, but I couldn't care less what he thought.

Today was the day I move my very first piece.

"Are the weapons packed and ready?"

"Yes."

"Is your ship equipped with the coordinates?"

"Yes."

"I've sent 20 men to accompany you, did you receive them?"

"They've all boarded and waiting for my orders."

"Good."

I imitated his curt nod, my fingers itching to begin. I wanted to depart as soon as possible.

"Eager, Mr. Khan?"

The tiniest intake of breath, my threatening gaze widened ever so slightly in response and I felt my heart stop. I found myself in an anxious panic, but I knew better.

Straightening my back in a perfect arch and holding my head up high in superiority, I looked back on the screen once again and retained my stoic demeanor. Marcus didn't deserve my fright.

"Very much so, admiral," I scoffed. With the twist of my heel, I turned back from his projected face and stepped once again into the bright sunlight and headed out to my awaiting ship.

A ship I was held in command of to transport Marcus's weapons to Jupiter where the _Dreadnought_ was to be built. A mistake in his part, but an advantage to mine.

* * *

The transporter ship given to me was fairly large, but built solely for cargo.

I entered wordlessly, ignoring the fearing eyes that trailed my back wherever I wandered about. They feared for their lives as a savage superhuman walks amongst them all because their admiral trusted me.

So I killed them all.

It was quick, clean and unnoticeable. I had no room for sympathies. I was eager to escape. After the cleanup of the dead men sprawled unmoving on the floors of my ship, I quickly checked back on my creations boarded as weapons for Marcus's plans.

Torpedoes occupied the deck of the storage area, large and threatening - all created from my own hands. But these were no weapons. They were simply disguises to help smuggle the ones I loved to safety. Quickly but thoroughly, I counted them all, one by one.

72.

72 photon torpedos boarded this ship.

72 cryo pods are missing from the dark basement of where we were held as prisoners in.

20 men dead that boarded along with me.

A hundred more that attempted to stop me as I stole my family back.

All gone unnoticed, all because of one man's trust in me.

Gently, I placed a cold hand on the equally cold shell of my design. "When we escape," I whispered, "I will wake you all. And we will burn those who did us wrong."

I seated myself on the captain's chair, now stained with the blood of the previous pilot who looked into my eyes and begged me to let him live. Well, I assumed that was what he was going to say, his open throat gurgled inaudible words before he could finish his pleas.

I didn't even think twice about killing that boy.

I shook my head.

"No room for sympathies…"

Ignoring my own moralities, I continued on. Starting the ship, I automatically punched in the coordinated for the Jovian moon Io. I knew Marcus would be keeping a close eye on the radar for my destination in case I go off course, but as his loyal prisoner, there would be no way I could disobey.

All I could do was simply fool the fool.

As I seated myself comfortably during launch, my eyes darted to another invention of mine stowed along with me. The most vital piece of my plan.

A portable transwarp beaming device created from my own hands. A creation that excelled Starfleet's own transporter with the help of information acquired by the transwarp equation devised by a Montgomery Scott. A chuckle sputtered as I thought of the many opportunities Alexander Marcus had unknowingly given me this whole time. The destruction of his own life will be because of his own stupidity.

But I had to praise him. He made this game too easy for me.

The cargo ship followed the path to its destination as planned. 23-17-46-11. The numbers etched into my mind. I simply waited for the moment to strike. Unsuspectingly, I planned to transport myself and my crew to a destination Marcus and Starfleet are too cowardly to approach. A barren area hidden within Kronos itself.

We would never be found there.

* * *

Hours had passed and my mind began to twitch from doing nothing. The smell of lingering blood from the dead men began to reach my nose and it tempted the madness to spill over and take control of me.

No,

I couldn't risk that.

Not when I've already gone this close from winning.

I've been tailing the king from the very beginning, crawling in his shadows, obeying his every words. Now I've trapped him in his own game and it's time for me to win once and for all.

A sudden beep from the monitors indicated a checkpoint reached. My heart thumped rapidly with adrenaline.

Frantically getting up, I willed myself to get started. Dragging my transwarp device with me, I then entered the storage area and hid myself amongst the rows of torpedos and began setup.

Quick hands connected with the machine naturally. I had to be fast. This device was simply a prototype which took a while to prepare before transportation and the results were uncertain, but I had to try.

Augments don't make mistakes.

The transwarp whirred in response. A good sign, to say the least. As I waited for the warp to begin, I took one last count of the missiles.

Then again.

and again.

72.

I couldn't help but breathe another sigh of relief.

The transporter beeped once more, indicating its condition. This was it. I won.

"Checkma-"

"Well, Khan I admire your audacity to turn on me."

My entire body felt like it was electrocuted by the sharpness of that voice. I couldn't move.

I was too much in shock.

The voice continued to echo through the silent ship, sucking the air out of my own lungs.

I quickly turned in a frantic search, my head whipped around like mad. Eyes seething with rage.

_How-_

All of a sudden, a screen had projected itself in front of me, looking over at the entire room with a disgusting smile plastered around an all too familiar face.

"But of course, I expected this outcome from your savage mind. Surprised to see me?"

Alexander Marcus once again stared down on me as I snarled in anger. My body tensing and filling with heat.

"How-"

"Oh come on now, I let you pilot your own ship and expect you to arrive here obediently as I commanded? And I know you've smuggled your whole crew along with you. How stupid do you think I am?"

In the corners of his temples, I could see his old veins protruding from his paper-thin skin. The admiral didn't like to be ridiculed. He wanted to be superior.

I began to laugh. The deep boom of my voice rattled the whole foundation as he watched.

No matter what, Marcus was still in another planet while my crew and I were far from it. There was nothing he could do to stop my transport.

Another beep of the device.

"You thought you've caught me, Admiral?" I started, playing along with his conversation as I patiently waited for the warp. "You think I didn't have the intellect to foresee this? I am _BETTER_, Marcus. BETTER THAN-"

"Oh really?"

His callous reply did nothing but fuel the burning fire.

"You're very egotistical aren't you, Mr. Khan? You think your kind is perfect, flawless."

The gleam in his eyes sharpened as they swiveled to meet mine. Something was wrong. Someting Marcus knew that I didn't.

"Ah so you haven't figured out yet. Shame."

The startings of another panic rooted itself in my chest. _My mistake...WHAT WAS IT?!_

My mind scanned my entire actions - looking over things I might've overlooked. I racked my brain for answers until I had pushed it to the point of tipping madness. Hands once again returned to my skull as a last effort to keep my sanity in.

I looked up with pained eyes at the admiral only to see him smile.

"I'll give you a hint. What are the Augment's only weakness?"

The way he spat the question was like a stone thrown at my own pride.

He was belittling me.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. Letting my hands fall back down to my sides, I let everything spill, directing it to Marcus.

"AUGMENT'S DO NOT HAVE-"

"Sentiment. "

With the turn of his body and the camera shifting to his side, Marcus finally showed me my own mistake.

My steaming blood turned ice cold.

Words began to stuff themselves down my throat as I choked.

I shook my head in disbelief.

Like rapid fire, my legs have taken off down the rows of torpedoes, counting them once more, one by one until the same number began repeating itself in my head.

72.

72.

72.

72.

72.

72.

72.

72.

72.

72 pods lay safely here under my watch. 72 members of my crew. I was to save them all.

So why couldn't I?

The 72nd torpedo. I ran up to it, wasting no time at all, ripping it to shreds with my own bare hands. I prayed to feel the cold glass pressing against my shaking hands; to see the sleeping face stare back at me; to relieve me from my alarm.

But all I got was nothing more than an empty shell.

My whole body shook in a trembling fit.

I looked back up to the screen in front of me, denying what it showed.

I refused this reality.

My eyes widened like orbs as they stung painfully at the sight.

Lips uttered a whisper of breath that slowly formed his name with the utmost fragility.

"John…"

Next to Marcus stood a cryopod, separated from the others - separated from me. The admiral circled it like a vulture examining his next meal. John's sleeping face was in full view for me to see.

"How…" I couldn't murmur more than a whisper. Marcus turned back to face my pathetic form, looking triumphantly at my defeat.

"You gave away your Achilles heel, Khan. This man...he was very dear to you wasn't he?-"

"HE STILL IS!"

"And that's why you lost. Now, stop me when I'm wrong. Did it ever occur to you that your ship might be blown into disintegration while you head towards us, floating in space where no one would ever find your remains? Did you think I had more use to you after you've already given me your own designs for the_ Dreadnought_? Right now Khan, you are no longer of use to me alive. You and your crew. This world doesn't need savages like you OR the Klingons. That is why you all should be eradicated. Starting with the Augments. "

The familiarity of this scene struck me hard. Starfleet had once again sentenced us to death in space.

A cowardly way to fight.

Before I could say another word, another beep from the transporter reminded me of its existence. Marcus, recognizing the sound of a transporter's whir, had already deduced my strategy.

I ran up to it, continuing the setup with a sliver of hope still left in me. If I could just transport the pods and myself out of this ship before Marcus's order to blow it up, there still might be a chance of survival.

I could still save John with an army of Augments trailing behind me.

I wasn't in a corner yet.

With an optimistic gleam in my eyes, I started transporter once more.

But Marcus was already steps ahead of me.

"Escaping with the same tactics as your brother's I see."

My hands stopped working. My throat went dry and surprise once again took over me.

My...brother?

How did he…?

I didn't even have it in me to be angry. When I turned my head to question him, Marcus had already done what I have dreaded.

He gave the order as swiftly and coldly as he could, loud enough for me to hear despite the whir of the prototype device working beside me.

"That's a shame. You should've just listened to me from the very beginning."

He cocked his head to the side, pointing his thumb at John's pod.

"Kill him."

Those very words already began to haunt me the second they left those vile lips.

Memories suddenly began to spill over as I watched men take John away from the screen. Memories that spilled like the tears that started to fall down my face.

John dragging me out into the rain of a dreary city.

John falling to his knees as a bullet wound began to fester in his already scarred shoulder.

John waiting for me at the entrance of Botany Bay with a smile of relief.

John telling me that everything was going to be okay as the ship around us was falling into pieces.

_"...as if I'm worth saving."_

I couldn't save you.

A name began to surface in my mind. I remembered. An homage to Harry and Hudson.

John's chosen name.

_"Harrison."_ I whispered.

I couldn't see him anywhere in the screen, not a shadow, not a sound. I wanted to plead - to beg him not to harm my most innocent friend, but I couldn't find my voice anywhere. Gone. Along with John.

Not too long after did the screen emit a strong hissing noise of a cryopod and the frantic beepings of the machine. My heart ached as it grew louder and louder, until the sounds of the pod's life support system died down to silence.

Without seeing it, I still knew what they had done.

They destroyed the pod.

They suffocated him.

They killed my John.

And all I did was listen. I felt a great, painful sadness overtake me all too suddenly, and I collapsed.

I just sat there, unmoving, grief-stricken as my head was in complete shambles. I felt my body being sucked in by the transporter, seeing the remnants of molecules swirling around me.

But as I turned to check for the other torpedoes, they stayed untouched; unaffected.

Marcus just watched with a grin as I crumbled with the effects of my own mistakes.

"When we meet again, Khan."

I couldn't forget the moment when I'd finally let my mind succumb to the overpowering darkness. Reality began to twist and morph into something more cold and numb. Before the warp had completed its job, my clouded eyes found the admiral's and locked with them instantly. As my form was dissipating, I had only one thing to say to the sadistic madman.

Through gritted teeth, I growled: "MY NAME IS JOHN HARRISON."

One name.

One identity.

An homage.

Marcus grimaced. "Blow up the ship."

But I was already long gone to know what had happened next.

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the confined space watching over my precious crew.

I was no longer watching John being taken away.

I no longer had the Marcus staring down at me with a triumphant grin.

I was now in the vast darkness of an empty land, dry and crusted with debris polluting its thin air, a prototype transporter dangling from my hands.

I was in Kronos.

Alone.

I felt unbearably numb.

I didn't hurt anymore. It was as if every pain a body could suffer had gathered itself up into my head and paralyzed everything in its reach. I stared into the dusty planet with wet eyes that felt like they could kill. I wanted to kill. I no longer felt the need to barr the madness away.

I had already succumb to it.

Marcus killed John.

Marcus killed my crew.

Marcus knew the truth about my past - my brother.

And for that, he will do more than _burn._

* * *

**A/N I had trouble writing this chapter because I started it on a Saturday. Saturday means the first weekend of the school year and I am happy. **

**Now I can't be happy while I'm writing in Khan's perspective now can I? Poor soul. (PS. This will probably be the first and last time I'll be writing in Khan's perspective, I'll be going back to third person by the next chapter, don't fret.) **

***Quick question, would you guys like this fic to be AU towards the end? Or follow the movie? I've done a lot of brainstorming this week when I should be studying and i've included some plots that stray far from the movie's ending and I know some of you wants AU so, yeah let me know! **

**Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


	20. Confrontation

**A/N Forgive the shortness and sloppiness of this chapter. Recaps are so difficult to procure without having it sound too repetitive. Anywhoos...enough of me, onto the chapter!**

* * *

The lost of six dozen lives.

They had all gone unnoticed in the galaxy. To everyone else, their existence was just a whisper of wind dying down to a dry halt.

But not for Khan.

Amidst the abandoned Ketha Province of Kronos, the stoic Augment took refuge underneath the shattered stained-glass windows glowing of heavenly gold. Contrasting with the darkness of its industrial, polluted planet, this place was a forgotten sanctuary,

A lost beauty,

A place for grievance.

For the majority of his stay in the foreign planet, all he would do was just stand on the broken altar, lids drooping heavily to a close as he basked in the sparse amount of reflected light.

For an apostle, one may mistake this action as a silent prayer to God.

It was a fitting description in actuality. The scene very much resembled the aftermath of a funeral.

A mourning for the death of his crew.

For the death of John.

The one loss of existence that had gone without acknowledgement, but Khan's grief was enough to make up for the entire world's.

At first it shook him to the very core, but now there was nothing left in the once frazzled Augment.

It had died along with John.

He was his heart, and now Khan had none. All he had left was that bitter memory. Everything else was fading fast.

His eyes clenched tighter as he recalled that awful sound of a failing cryopod beeping frantically around him, then coming to a sudden, mind-numbing silence. He remembered that split second when Marcus ordered for the ship containing his entire crew to be blown up, and he remembered his failure to save everyone on board and only managing to escape by himself.

Now he was alone. A situation deemed unacceptable to the people who knew his potential.

Khan should not be alone.

With no restraints or anchor tying him down to his morality, the powerful Augment now had the freedom he craved to seek vengeance and it was all against the Admiral.

When not in Kronos, Khan began to spend his time hidden amongst the civilization of Earth, wandering unnoticed by Starfleet and free to plot his destruction. No one knew of him.

On Earth, he was John Harrison.

A name to keep the memory of_ him_ alive.

Khan spent all his time near Starfleet Headquarters, researching, observing, deducing. He needed to find new tactics for bringing down Marcus and if possible, Starfleet itself. His one key weapon:

Manipulation.

Khan used whatever he had to get what he wanted. His silken voice to persuade the soft hearted, his daunting eyes to threaten the weak, and best of all, his newfound ability to share his regenerative skills.

A drop of blood onto a dead experiment was all it took for Khan to realize he had gained the upper hand once more and he used this power to target the most vulnerable soul.

But he didn't think of it as a threat. He was simply giving them the opportunity to save the ones they hold most dear for the cost of their own lives.

A second chance Khan never had.

Unknowing to all, the emotionless Augment was the cause of any destruction done to Starfleet. Any obstacle Marcus had underwent all rooted from Khan's hatred, and he did absolutely everything that had to be done to reach the Admiral.

And he didn't feel a thing as he caused so much ruin.

He didn't fear death for death was what he yearned for nor did he harbor any hope, for his family was already cruelly taken away from him the moment he awoke in the presence of Alexander Marcus.

Khan no longer had anything to keep him tied to this world other than the blood he sought from Marcus's dead body.

And he always came very close to getting what he wanted. Close, but to no avail.

His last attempt came straight out of luck. All it took was a Starfleet member whose daughter was on the brink of death and his determination to help her live. When Khan appeared before the distraught father, he found the pleading man groveling on his knees when he offered his assistance.

"Will you accept any price to pay for a life?" Khan purred kindly but dangerously onto the man's ear as he helped him back up to his feet.

"Anything - anything at all!"

Piercing eyes flickered with interest and deceit. His kind hold on the man's arm turned into a forceful grip and began to pull him harshly towards his gaze. The man saw fire in those glass eyes and as he looked very closely, he could even spot his own reflection amongst the clear blue and saw the fear that radiated on his face.

Khan loved the expression people had when they stared at him. He felt like death himself, offering the contract written in blood.

Oh how he wanted for Marcus to be under his gaze. Khan wanted him to see the man's own fears reflected back onto him through his eyes.

With another dark whisper, Khan began to speak once more but with feigned kindness now gone from his voice.

Terrified eyes widened at the words that flowed through his ear in a command. Khan shifted his attention back at the hospital doors and smiled at the occupants behind them. A girl confined in her bed and barely breathing. A mother crying by her bedside.

It was a reminder for the poor Starfleet officer of what he could get back at the cost of his own life.

The next week, the Kelvin Memorial Archive was blown to dust.

The very building in which secretly held Section 31, known to Khan as the basement he had occupied in ever since he woke up from his cryogenic sleep.

On that same week, Khan was able to see once more the face of the murderer as he fired amongst a crowd of officers.

His failure was not a lost, however. The look on the Admiral's eyes when they met was enough to assure Khan of his victory.

The game was back on and this time, Khan no longer had a heart for Marcus to toy with.

* * *

The day of the tragic incident which caused the lives of many esteemed officers was the day Marcus knew his war with the Augment had once again begun.

Since the very beginning, he had always known Khan was alive and plotting his demise but he could never find where. He also knew of the many occurrences that had happened to him after Khan's escape but they had never faced each other ever since, but after locking eyes with the Augment once more among the destruction of fire and blood, Marcus finally understood the depths of the man's hatred.

It was only for a split second, but during that time, he saw the change through that cold stare.

Blank and lifeless, but full of electricity and bloodlust.

But the fear Marcus harbored didn't last for too long. After being informed of John Harrison's location in Kronos by James Kirk, he couldn't believe his luck. It was as if Khan wanted to present him with the very war he wanted.

A reason to invade Kronos.

And because of the death of Christopher Pike, he had obtained many more pawns to do his dirty work for him.

No, Alexander Marcus didn't feel threatened by the return of Khan. For him, it was more of a blessing.

After confirming Kirk's reinstatement as Captain and the approval of their voyage to Kronos, Marcus walked along the now empty hallways of headquarters, pieces of loose papers began to ruffle slightly underneath the crook of his arm. They were wrinkled and old like the skin of his hands but their contents held information that had helped the Admiral learn more about his dear adversary.

Placing the papers in front of him as he walked deeper to his destination, Marcus began to read once more of the stories and documents scrawled hastily on centuries old material.

_God-like humans that once roamed the Academy's very halls,_

_A doomed ship carrying coffins in which they were laid to rest in,_

_A failed execution marked successful._

The ghost story passed on through the very mouths of Starfleet Academy students. No one knew exactly of its origins for its age, but now.

Marcus, obsessed with the unbelievable tale of Augments as a child now held the very documents that had started it all.

He read the scribbled text over and over again until he had finally reached the steps leading to a cold and dreary storage facility.

"I cannot emphasize more on their existence than what information this paper holds but do remember this: Augments are real." Marcus narrated from the paper in front of him.

"They are real and they were once human too. They were wrongly accused of being a threat and they never once held the desire to kill. These people are human experiments but they are not monsters. They will return one day, I can guarantee this, but it will be long after I am gone."

He entered the room with caution.

"If there is ever a chance you are reading this Sherlock, know that you couldn't get rid of me that easily and that you will always and forever have my undying respect."

With a wave of his hand, the lights of the hidden storage facility nestled somewhere in the crooks of Starfleet Headquarters revealed the very torpedoes Marcus had threatened to destroy. Licking his thin, aged lips, the Admiral recited his most favored line. A line full of so much mystery and lost information even Marcus couldn't get hold of:

"Sincerely Yours, _M. H_."

* * *

**A/N ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)**


	21. A Remnant of a Time Long Past

Captain James T. Kirk stood over the newly dug grave marked with a plaque that shone brighter than the rest that occupied the same plot of land.

He knew that he was supposed to feel grievance and distress over the death of the man who was the closest thing to a father to him. Tears should've spilled down onto his cheeks and his heart should've felt heavy with torment and sorrow as he watched dirt being flung onto an open hole where the remains of a good man finally rested,

but that isn't how a Starfleet captain should act,

nor would it be the behaviour Christopher Pike would be satisfied in seeing if he were alive.

Instead, Kirk stood proud and tall with his fist clenched together in a tight grip as he watched the obsidian-black grave marker shine in his sight below him. Pike's name glittered in rich gold.

But among the dolor-colored stone reflected another form of darkness - a much chilling sight bearing image of the man who looked straight into Kirk's eyes on that chaotic day.

He remembered every detail of it - how could he forget the face of the man who killed his first supporter. He recalled the look of those glass eyes that stared him down.

It was an unusual look, far different from the other enemies he has encountered throughout his lifetime.

They were cold and detached like a dead man's gaze, but deep into his features Kirk found the slight sliver of human emotion detected on John Harrison's face. A hint of regret shone on his face as he was fleeing. Emotion evident as he spotted Kirk amidst the madness.

"Who are you?" Kirk muttered as the memory came and went once more.

The raven-haired mysterious mad-man.

The glasz-colored eyes that held so much hate and resentment in one glare.

_'What could he possibly want?'_

_'What was his motive?'_

_'Why Starfleet?'_

The hands that were already closed into a fist clenched tighter with every looming question. Kirk bit his lip to suppress the oncoming pain.

_'He's nothing more than a heartless bastard'_

"What are you? Because I will find you and take you down."

With a last salute and a turn of his heel, Jim Kirk quickened his steps as he moved away from Christopher Pike's grave before he lost himself into sorrow. Clumsy fingers massaged his stinging eyes as the one did nothing to help with the tears.

Sometimes, in days of darkness, Kirk had always questioned what it was like to have a stoic heart like a Vulcan. He wonders whether or not Spock had a gift or a curse for times like these throbbed painfully in his chest and there was nothing that his egocentric mind could do to relieve it.

He believed in his very being that the universe has long denied him the blessings of a father.

Jim Kirk had now lost two

with the faces of their murderers forever embedded onto his memory.

* * *

_Captain Kirk was wrong._

_Khan was not a heartless man._

_His heart was the very cause of his destruction._

_His heart was his weakness,_

_his liability_

_his pressure point._

_John Harrison is and simply was a lonely man_

_suffering just as much as Kirk._

* * *

Khan was not a heartless man.

Kirk finally saw a glimpse of proof.

A waiver of hope,

A moment of shock that spread across the Augment's darkened features told all.

_"72"_

That number echoed through his mind once more. Khan had realized he was given his second chance.

_"72 torpedoes"_

The same torpedoes he had conjured from his own abilities - torpedoes in which smuggled his dearest crew away from the traitorous Admiral.

The ones he thought was lost forever during that frightful event.

Marcus will pay. He will burn in hellfire for what he did, using his families as toys for his game.

Khan looked back at the three humans standing before him in confusion and fear. Cocking his head to the side, he observed their frightened but composed expressions.

_Do you know? No, you're just part of Marcus's pawns now aren't you?_

But it was then that he was met with a fiery blue staring back at him with a lifetime full of resentment.

The Captain of the Enterprise who couldn't let himself be threatened by an unknown stranger. The strong-willed and the tough-hearted.

_The broken soldier._

Realization hit Khan with like a bullet.

_No, you're not pawns,_ he thought as he recalled that unfinished chess game. The strategy he had adopted was now back in play.

_The Enterprise is the queen._

Hands twitched in anticipation as everything Khan had worked for was finally coming back to him. He could finally end this once and for all and retake his crew, and kill Marcus for what

he has done.

All he needed was to follow the queen…

_"72"_

That was all it took for Khan to regain what he had lost. Without hesitation, the Great Khan had surrendered without a moment's passing and even allowed the distraught Captain to give his mighty blows.

He almost laughed at his feeble attempts, happy to feel something again.

They are _alive._

* * *

The moment on board the Enterprise was the moment Khan had singlehandedly unraveled Marcus's obviously constructed plan. Everything became clear.

He could see the ignorance flaming in their Captain's eyes.

But what he could also see was the remains of hate and resentment that was directed to him pertaining to the incident he had caused in order to gain Marcus's attention.

Khan saw a reflection of himself in that snarled expression, composed to avoid showing any weakness. He knew that was the same face he held when the Admiral first chose to reveal his true colors.

But those blue soldier's eyes…

He's seen them before…

_'Emotions are such a dreadful burden aren't they, Mr. Kirk?'_

It was a weakness he knew he could easily exploit; his surrender was not a gamble.

Khan knew that in order for him to take advantage of the Enterprise, he had to gain their trust. Right now, their loyalty laid in Marcus's wrinkled old hands. To do so would mean exposing the truth,

But it was a necessary risk to be taken for the sake of his crew.

"23, 17, 46, 11" Coordinates that flowed flawless in Khan's voice. Numbers that lead to the Admiral's reveal. He needed them to find him; no words of truth could ever convince them now.

"If you want to know why I did what I did, go and take a look."

Kirk looked back with askance, but Khan saw it falter undeniably. Kirk was not a cold man no matter how his actions exhibited so. He was strong but soft-hearted.

_'Just like…'_

"Give me one reason why I should listen to you-"

"-I could give you 72. And there on board your ship, Captain. They have been all along…

I suggest you open one up."

* * *

Jim Kirk was not easily swayed, let alone by the very man who had unleashed vengeance against Starfleet, but something about those torpedoes irked him from the start.

It was Scotty's first rejection of them that had supported Harrison's mysterious claim and convinced the young Captain to follow his curiosity.

He wanted to know.

He wanted to know why he saved their lives in Kronos. Kirk knew there was more to John Harrison's surrender.

And without taking opposition, the admiral's daughter and McCoy was sent off with one of the torpedoes in their possession.

When they arrived, however, they returned with an extra person, frozen in his state in a machine so ancient, it was impossible to decipher.

A man frozen in comatose

for 300 years.

It was enough to send Kirk's legs sprinting to John Harrison's cell.

He needed answers and he needed them _now._

* * *

"Why is there a man in that torpedo?"

In that moment, Khan suppressed the urge to sigh relief.

They were alive.

Marcus was a liar.

He had his crew.

"There are men and women in all those torpedos Captain, I put them there."

"Who the hell are you?" Kirk demanded.

Hesitation lingered in Khan's tongue as he waited to respond. His kind had been cast off from Earth due to hatred and fear. What the truth revealed could mark a repeat of history for the Augments, but lies could not help him now.

If he wanted Kirk to trust him, he had to trust Kirk as well.

"A remnant of a time long past. Genetically engineered to be superior so to lead others to peace in a world at war." His memories flickered to a smiling Admiral Eugene, dedicated to his work.

Then, to the memory of John: "_I joined to keep you safe. To keep all of Scotland Yard safe._

_It was my decision and mine alone. Understand?"_

"We were condemned as criminals, forced into exile." _'A privilege_'

"For centuries we slept," '_John, you told me once, didn't you? Friends protect people. I'm protecting you because you are my best man and to me, that is worth everything.'_

"Hoping when we awoke things would be...different…

I alone, survived."

"I looked up John Harrison,"

The name sparked another pang of guilt through the Augment.

"A year ago he didn't exist-"

"John Harrison was a fiction created the moment I was awoken by your admiral Marcus to help him advance his cause. A smokescreen to conceal my true identity." Irritance seized his whole body. Khan hated his past.

He hated recalling the true origin of his alias.

_John Harrison._

"My name...is… _Khan_." he spat out brutally.

But Kirk was still unfazed. No recognition was given to his name and it showed how much Marcus had hidden away from Starfleet.

Khan needed more to convince Kirk of Marcus's doing. He needed more truth, and so he delivered.

The relief of revealing Marcus ran like a cold chill through his veins. A comfort, yet repulsive feeling. As he reminisced, he was reminded of all the torment he had underwent by Marcus's hands. The way the apathetic Admiral used his crew against him…

They needed to know what he has done.

But Kirk was still not convinced. He too harbored loss of a family and the blame fell on Khan.

"I watched you open fire in a room full of unarmed Starfleet officers! You killed them! In cold blood!"

Khan's blood boiled as he remembered Kirk's face amongst the fire, and he remembered a man limping himself to safety with a cane gripped tightly on his hands.

At that moment he was reminded of someone who used to do the same thing…

A soldier with limp…

The pain in Khan's heart as he watched the man fall in agony. His face turned to him and all he could see was...

"_MARCUS_ took my crew from me!" Khan turned his head away from that broken face in his mind.

"YOU ARE A _MURDERER._"

"He used my friends to control me!"

_All he could see was…_

"I tried to smuggle them into safety by concealing them in the very weapons I had designed. But I was discovered...I had no choice but to escape alone. "

Khan could feel the frantic panic he felt before. The failing warp device, the blaring thrill in Marcus's voice…

The moment his very being stopped to exist as he ripped apart the 72nd torpedo.

"I had every reason to suspect that Marcus had killed every single one of the people I hold most dear."

The huge reveal and the sound of a cryopod that held a dying man.

The very last time Khan had ever seen him since.

All he could see in Christopher Pike's face as he laid dying on the crumbled floor was John.

_His_ John. The one he had promised to protect with his life.

And Marcus snatched him away with a smile on his face.

Khan couldn't protect him, he failed to do his part. But he harbored a vengeance so immense towards the Admiral who betrayed him.

"And so I responded in kind…" Khan spoke through gritted teeth.

"My crew is my_ family_, Kirk. Is there anything you would not do for your family?"

* * *

Kirk left the holding cell in a dash, fists clenched to his sides as he maneuvered his way through the Enterprise with Spock silently at his heels, ignorant of such emotion that connected Khan to his Captain. But it was then when Kirk passed the bridge did the confused Vulcan speak up and question his motives.

"Captain, we need to assess the report of an incoming ship. Where are you going?"

"Not now, Spock."

"But Captain, you're heading to the Med Bay-"

"I know."

"Is there a certain reason?-"

"Spock PLEASE!" Hard eyes met Spock's and it was enough to silence his ongoing questions.

Kirk stomped his way through each deck as his mind repeated the conversation he had with Khan. He wanted answers and the Augment had given it to him in a silver platter - blunt and truthful; there was no doubt in his voice at all.

Jim's problem, however, laid in his decision whether or not he would take it.

As Kirk and Spock arrived at the Medical Bay, they were immediately met with a fuming Bones, still obviously pissed at the shock he had went through while opening the torpedo. Now he finds Jim where he wasn't supposed to be.

"Hey, Mr. Captain! Didn't you hear the report? Incoming ship! What are you doing here - go do your job!"

But Kirk was intent on revealing more of Khan's mystery, and he couldn't find it in himself to trust those dark-laced words that Khan had spoken to him.

He needed another source of information. One who knew more of Khan than he did himself.

Kirk's eyes then flickered towards the dismantled torpedo laying near his feet.

There was only one group of witnesses that held valuable information.

72 available on the Enterprise. It was a risk that Kirk was willing to take.

"Bones I want you and Carol to revive one of these people. Choose one and do your job carefully."

McCoy couldn't help but bark out a suppressed chuckle. Carol Marcus and Spock looked at Kirk with much surprise.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

"Captain it would be illogical-"

"To hell with illogical, this is insanity! I already agreed with you with opening one up but now you want us to perform magic on a frozen guy? Jim this is a bit of a stretch-"

"Im not joking around, Bones!" Kirk interrupted with a tone of annoyance. Taking on the air of a Captain, Kirk spun around and looked his medical officer straight on. The alarms blared once more as they called the Captain onto the bridge, giving Kirk little time to explain.

"Choose a torpedo, open one up, and do your best to revive them. I want one alive and the others left intact. No word should be given to our prisoner of this. This is between us only, do you understand?"

McCoy watched his Captain plead with strong intent. He had never seen Jim act so determined yet frightened about something before.

It must be of importance if Jim was to listen to the words of a prisoner.

With a firm nod, McCoy stood tall and looked Kirk straight back.

"Understood, Captain."

* * *

**A/N Forgive the delay! I have prioritized weekends as my day of writing but even that has become difficult to maintain. T^T I hope you guys can mind some brief hiatus's after each update, that'll be much appreciated! ^3^**

**Anywhoos, I've taken up your recommendations for the plot of this pic and...well I guess it's a bit obvious now isn't it? My decision was made after I had a great brain blast whilst watching STID for the -godknowshowmuch-times. I know I'm skimming through the movie parts alot, I suspect you guys already know the happening's of the movie and I'm just avoiding repetition. The rest will include brand new info from now on ;)**

**P.S. Kirk reminds me of John a lot yeah? ^-^**

**Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3**


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